Created, Harry Potter
by JBean210
Summary: Back at Privet Drive after first year, Harry is banished to his room without his wand. Things are looking dreadful until two men arrive to take him from the Dursleys - Remo and Chiun, who want to train him in Sinanju in fulfillment of an ancient Sinanju prophecy. Harry leaves with them, disrupting all of Dumbledore's carefully-laid plans. Harry Potter/The Destroyer crossover.
1. The Men from Sinanju

.  
**CREATED,**  
**HARRY POTTER**  
By JBean210

**Chapter One  
****The Men from Sinanju  
**_Published beginning June 14, 2014_

"Get out of the car, boy!"

Harry Potter slid from the back seat of the Dursleys' car, the birdcage holding his owl Hedwig clutched tightly in his hands. As Harry stepped out of the car his uncle slammed the door shut, narrowly missing him. His uncle grunted disapprovingly — whether it was because he'd missed or because Harry shouldn't have been in the way in the first place, Harry couldn't tell. Uncle Vernon stepped past him to the back of the car, where Harry's trunk was locked inside the boot.

Harry turned to follow his uncle, expecting to be forced to carry both the cage and the trunk into the house, but his uncle pointed furiously toward number four Privet Drive, the house where the Dursleys lived, and snarled, "Get inside, boy! I'll bring your stuff, never you mind about it. Wait for me by the cupboard!" Harry stared at him a moment, then turned and walked toward the house where his Aunt Petunia, a thin, horse-faced woman, and his cousin Dudley, a vast blond-haired boy the same age as Harry, already stood watching him. Dudley was trying to hide behind his mother, an attempt doomed to fail as he was nearly twice as wide as she was. It would have been laughable except that nothing had been funny since Harry arrived back in King's Cross after returning from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Nearly a year ago Dudley had been on the receiving end of the first magic spell Harry had ever seen — he'd been jinxed and grown a pig's tail. Since then Dudley had been deathly afraid of Harry; he'd spent the trip back from King's Cross huddled in the back seat as far away from him as possible.

Petunia opened the front door and pointed toward it as Harry approached. "Get inside," she ordered, and Harry sidled past her and into the front hallway. He stood there, still holding Hedwig's cage as Petunia and Dudley entered, her arms wrapped protectively around his shoulders.

"Duddikins," she said in the sickeningly sweet tone she used only when speaking to him. "Why don't you go in the living room and rest while Mummy makes dinner for you and Daddy?" Dudley glanced furtively toward Harry, making sure there was no wand in his hand, then turned and waddled into the living room. He plopped down on the divan, picked up the remote control, and began switching through the channels.

His aunt then rounded on Harry, her eyes narrowed, as if she wanted to look at him as little as possible. "You wait here for your uncle," she said harshly, then spun around and with a sniff of contempt disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone. Harry sighed unhappily. How differently he had imagined, only an hour ago, how much fun this summer was going to be!

He, Ron and Hermione had just returned from Hogwarts to King's Cross and had passed through the barrier that separated Platform 9¾ from the rest of the train station. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had been waiting for them, and Ginny seemed more excited at seeing Harry than her own brothers. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley had been there as well, all looking at him rather unpleasantly. His uncle had spoken rudely to Mrs. Weasley then walked away, and Hermione had looked after him uncertainly, shocked that anyone could be that ill-mannered. She told Harry she hoped he had a good holiday. Harry had grinned and replied, "Oh, I will. They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer…"

But his hopes had been dashed even before the trip home began. At the car Vernon dropped Harry's trunk next to the boot and pointed at it, demanding that Harry open it. Hesitantly, unsure what his uncle was going to do, Harry did as he was told, and Vernon stared with growing anger at the cauldron, books and school robes in his trunk.

"Put everything in your pockets into the trunk, boy," Vernon ordered. Harry complied, stacking the contents of his pockets on top of his robes. There wasn't much — three Knuts, a couple of pieces of string, two Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans and a Chocolate Frog package (Dudley had eyed these last few items hungrily but kept his distance from Harry) and lastly, Harry's wand. Dursley stared at everything as if it were a bomb that might go off at any second.

"Is that all of it?" Vernon demanded, and Harry nodded reluctantly. His uncle closed the trunk then picked it up and dropped it into the boot, along with Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand broom. He turned to take Hedwig's cage as well but Harry pulled away.

"You can't put Hedwig in there!" he said, adamant despite the glare his uncle was giving him. "She'll suffocate!"

"Don't be ridiculous, boy," Vernon growled, but seemed to relent. "That cage is too big, anyway. But mind nothing gets on the back seat or you'll be washing and cleaning the entire car tomorrow!"

The drive home had been silent except for his uncle muttering in the front seat, comments like "no funny business this summer" and "there'll be no freaks come round to see the boy, that's for certain!" His aunt kept shooting glares at him from the front seat, and Dudley stayed as far away from Harry as possible, staring at him as if he thought Harry might say something and another pig's tail would pop out of Dudley's backside.

Harry himself merely sat holding Hedwig's cage, wondering what was going to happen when they got home. He found out soon enough when his uncle stopped at a hardware store, returning to the car with two padlocks and a heavy steel latch. He put one padlock on Hedwig's cage, muttering, "That should hold that ruddy bird," then drove the rest of the way home in silence. Now Harry was standing in the hallway of his aunt and uncle's house waiting for his uncle to bring his school trunk and broom inside.

His uncle finally appeared at the door, dragging Harry's trunk behind him, the broom in his other beefy hand. Harry wasn't happy about the way his things were being treated but he dared not say anything to his uncle. Vernon dropped the trunk and the broom on the floor and told Harry, "Wait here," while he went into the kitchen. He returned a minute later with an electric drill, and fastened the latch to the cupboard door.

Opening the cupboard, Vernon tossed Harry's trunk and broom inside, then closed and locked it with the other padlock.

"There," he said at last, grinning triumphantly at Harry. "Now there'll be no funny business going on here this summer, you hear me, boy? You're not reading a single page of a single book in that trunk of yours, and you won't be getting up to any of that freak stuff in _my_ house. I don't even want to hear _one word_ about any of that stuff from you, do you hear me? Now get up to your room — you look like they fed you quite a bit at that freak school, there's no need for you to eat anything else tonight."

Harry trudged up the steps, carrying Hedwig's cage, with Vernon right behind him. Harry went into the smallest bedroom, placing Hedwig's cage on the chest of drawers, then sat down on the bed, staring at his uncle. Until last year this room had been Dudley's second bedroom, where he kept all his extra toys, but after the first letter had come from Hogwarts his aunt and uncle had moved him from the cupboard under the stairs, where he'd slept for the first ten years on Privet Drive, to this room, believing that "they" were watching.

"I don't want to hear a peep out of you or that ruddy bird of yours," Vernon warned him. "Or there'll be no breakfast for you in the morning. Oh, and your aunt will want you to mow the yard and weed the garden tomorrow, and I don't want to hear that you've given her any lip about it." Harry nodded resignedly. His uncle grunted then pulled the door closed. Harry heard the key turn in the lock with a _click_, then the sound of his uncle stomping back downstairs.

Harry dropped his face into his hands and sighed dejectedly. This was _not_ how he'd imagined his first holiday back from Hogwarts was going to be! Once his cousin realized Harry couldn't use magic against him he'd get over his fear; Harry wondered if there would be more Harry-hunting with Dudley and his gang. And with Hedwig locked in her cage Harry couldn't send owl posts to Ron or Hermione, and couldn't answer any posts he received unless he sent them back with the owls that delivered them. He'd have to hope that any letters that came to him wouldn't come down the chimney or through an open window where his aunt or uncle could see them, or he probably wouldn't even get to read them at all.

Worse, without his school books Harry was going to get behind on his holiday studying. He was going to be hopelessly behind when he returned to Hogwarts this fall — and that was if his aunt and uncle let him go back at all! Harry would have to hope someone at the school would come looking for him if he didn't show up. He should have told Ron or Hermione more about what went on here — they'd seen how rudely Vernon had acted toward Mrs. Weasley, but that was nothing compared to what Harry had to put up with. If they'd known, maybe they might come and rescue him from Privet Drive before the summer was over and take him — take him —

Er, but where? Back to Hogwarts? Students weren't allowed there during the summer holidays, he'd been told. Maybe he could stay with Ron's family, Harry decided. Mrs. Weasley was very nice, and she seemed to like Harry a lot. He hoped it wouldn't be much of an inconvenience — he wouldn't take up much room, and he could sleep on the floor with just a blanket and a pillow.

And they could practice Quidditch! Harry groaned softly, realizing that he wouldn't be able to practice his flying at all while at Privet Drive. An eleven-year old boy flying around the neighborhood on a broom would _not_ be approved of, he was certain of that! Ron had mentioned that he and his brothers Fred and George practiced in an orchard near their house. Fred and George were on the Quidditch team, too; they were Beaters, which meant they carried heavy wooden bats and hit Bludgers — iron balls that could knock you off your broom if you weren't careful — at opposing players to keep them off-balance and dodging.

There was a soft hooting sound from Hedwig's cage, and Harry got up and walked over to where his snowy owl perched in her cage, watching him expectantly, waiting to be let out for the night. Harry shook his head morosely. "Sorry girl," he said unhappily. "I can't let you out." Hedwig tilted her head at him, as if she thought he was just joking with her. Harry reached up and took hold of the padlock on her cage, wishing he could somehow make it open.

Sometimes unusual things happened around Harry, things like having his hair cut off and growing back in a single night, or being chased by Dudley and his gang and suddenly finding himself on the roof of the school, where they couldn't reach him. Maybe the lock would suddenly pop open in his hand, and he could open the window to his room and let Hedwig fly free.

But the lock didn't open and Harry finally let it go. "I'll try to talk Uncle Vernon into letting you out tomorrow night so you can get something to eat and some exercise." But even as he said this Harry knew it was useless, that his uncle would never agree to let Hedwig out. Hedwig seemed to realize this, too, because she shook her head and turned around on her perch, away from Harry. Miserable, Harry slouched back to his bed and fell across it, wishing he could get in touch with Ron or Hermione and have them come and take him out of here. Surely his aunt and uncle wouldn't object if someone came and asked if Harry could stay with them for the summer! After all, they didn't want him here in the first place!

Harry had no idea how long he lay there, stretched out across his bed, wishing for a way out of the mess he was in, tears threatening to well up and spill out of him, when he heard the doorbell downstairs ring. He sat up, curious. Outside his window he could see that it was nearly dusk — the sky was a deep blue and there were long shadows cast by the other houses in the neighborhood. Who would come calling this late? Harry experienced a momentary thrill of hope — perhaps his wishes had been answered after all and someone had come for him!

Harry sprang from the bed to the door, pressing his ear against it so he could hear what was happening downstairs. He could hear the television — a show Dudley liked was on — and his uncle was loudly complaining about inconsiderate people showing up at all hours of the night. Vernon stomped to the front door and opened it, demanding to know what the person standing outside wanted at this ruddy hour of the evening.

Harry pressed his ear even harder against the door, hoping to hear Ron or Hermione asking to see him. He would even be happy to hear Professor McGonagall's stern, Scottish accent or Professor Dumbledore with his deep, gentle voice requesting a word with him. But whoever was outside the door, it wasn't a voice he recognized.

"I'm Remo Pelham," Harry heard the person say. "And this is Mr. Park. We're from the DCSF." That was the Department of Children, Schools and Families, the agency that oversaw the protection of children in England and Wales. Harry, however, had never heard of the DCSF before, so he knew nothing about it.

Vernon Dursley _had_ heard of it, though no one from that department had ever visited his house before. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"We want a word with Harry Potter," the man outside the door answered. "Is he here?"

"He, er, won't be back until tomorrow evening," Vernon lied, trying to bluff his way out of this predicament. What a bother! One of their nosy neighbors must have seen them come home and decided they didn't like what they saw, despite Vernon and Petunia telling everyone on Privet Drive that the boy stayed at St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys during the school year, so they ought to know he was a problem to deal with!

"We saw him arrive," the man said. "We've been reviewing his case and we have a few questions for him. It shouldn't take long."

"It's late," Harry heard his uncle say. "We were about to go to bed."

"At 8:45? Isn't that a bit early?" the man asked.

"It's been a long day," Vernon snapped. "Now really, I must ask you to — now wait a minute! You can't just barge in here —"

There was a sudden _thud_ and a groan. It sounded like Uncle Vernon had fallen. "Actually, we _can_ just barge in here," the man who'd called himself Remo said. "Now I'm going to go upstairs and bring the kid down to talk to him. Mr. Park will stay down here with you. I suggest that none of you say or do anything to upset him while I'm gone."

"Or what?" Harry heard Uncle Vernon snarl, anger in his voice, then suddenly — "Owww!"

"Or," the voice of the man who'd called himself Remo went on, "the pain you're experiencing right now is going to feel like a summer breeze compared to what you'll feel if you annoy him in any way. I don't recommend it."

Harry began to panic. Could these men be here to hurt him rather than help him? Whatever they'd done to Uncle Vernon, it hadn't sounded pleasant. Harry looked around the room, trying to decide what to do. He didn't hear any footsteps, but the doorknob suddenly jiggled, as if the man was trying to open it. Harry jumped away from the door, falling back onto his bed, and watched as the doorknob began to turn. The door was locked. Harry looked about the room wildly, trying to decide what to do. He could race to the window and open it, then grab Hedwig's cage and jump to the ground. Hopefully he'd still be able to run after that. It was the only thing he could think of doing. But he _didn't_ run — he just continued to watch the doorknob jiggle back and forth.

The doorknob stopped turning, and Harry waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. Would the man give up and go back downstairs, or would he break the door down? However, neither of these things occurred. The entire door seemed to bow inward, then snapped flat again. Harry gasped — the locking bolt was out of the door frame! It began to swing open.

Was that magic? Harry had never seen an entire door bend like that. He looked back at the window, trying to decide what to do, but he couldn't —

A man's head came around the edge of the door and looked at him. "Hey, kid," he asked. "Are you Harry Potter?"

The man was tall and thin, Harry saw, with hair almost as black as his own, and eyes that were dark brown and deep set. He stepped into the room, glancing to the left and right, then back at Harry. He had high cheek bones, and a face that did not seem dangerous or intimidating at all.

But then, he remembered, neither had Professor Quirrell when Harry first met him, nor did the wizard seem threatening or dangerous for most of first year, until Harry found him in the room with the Mirror of Erised. That man had been _very_ dangerous, being both Quirrell and Lord Voldemort. Harry had luckily escaped them, and Voldemort disappeared, leaving Quirrell to die.

For all Harry knew, this man could have Voldemort inside him as well!

"Er — yes," Harry said at last, wondering whether Voldemort would try to trick him by pretending not to know him. But if he was just going to kill Harry why even bother with that? "Who are you?"

"I'm Remo," the man said. "I want you to come downstairs. My teacher wants to ask you some questions."

"Your teacher?" Harry asked, now curious. What would a man as old as this Remo looked need a teacher? He looked long past school age.

Remo shrugged. "I don't know, he wouldn't tell me." He didn't seem pleased by that fact. "Come on."

But Harry wasn't ready to go downstairs yet. "I heard someone fall. You didn't hurt anyone, did you?"

The man called Remo smiled thinly. "Your uncle tried to get tough with me. That didn't work out too well for him."

"He's okay, isn't he?"

"Don't worry," Remo said, reassuringly . "He's fine. He had plenty of padding to fall on."

Harry tried to suppress a smile at that. This Remo seemed okay, but there were still a lot of things going on he didn't understand. "Who's your teacher?"

"His name is Chiun," the thin man said. That didn't really tell Harry anything, though. "Are you ready to go down and talk to him now?"

Harry didn't move. "Who is he," he asked again. "I mean, why does he want to talk to me?"

"Like I told you, kid, I don't know," Remo said, impatiently. "All he's told me is that you might be the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy."

"What prophecy?" How could he have anything to do with some prophecy? "Someone tried to kill me a few weeks ago, but nobody ever said anything about a prophecy!"

Remo shrugged. "Chiun told me a little about it, he said the prophecy foretold that you would be in danger, but that the Master of Sinanju would protect you and save you, and you would defeat the evil that came against you."

This was getting weirder and weirder, Harry thought. "Who's the Master of Sinan — Sinanju?"

"That's Chiun," Remo explained. "He's the Master of Sinanju. But all that prophecy stuff he believes in is just bulldookey. I brought him here because he wasn't going to stop carping about it until he came to see you. So let's go downstairs and he can ask you his questions and he and I can leave and everybody will be happy. Okay?"

"Okay, I guess," Harry agreed, and he followed Remo out of his room and down the stairs. On the way down he noticed that Remo's footsteps were silent, even on the steps that creaked when Harry stepped on them. How could anyone move that silently?

In the hallway at the base of the staircase Harry found the Dursleys gathered in a tight little clump —Vernon was standing, red-faced and breathing heavily, in front of his wife and son, one hand clamped over an ear. Petunia stood at his side, an arm wrapped protectively around Dudley, who was again trying to hide behind her. In the center of the hallway there was another man, who Remo addressed, gesturing to Harry. "Here he is, Chiun," he said. "Harry Potter."

Chiun was a small Oriental man who looked incredibly old. He was nearly bald, with a mere wisp of a beard on his chin, and his face was as wrinkled as a prune. He was dressed in a red robe that Harry thought at first glance was a wizard's robe, but he realized it was probably Chinese or Japanese clothing. He was hardly taller than Harry himself.

Harry had heard Remo tell Uncle Vernon that he wouldn't want this man to hurt him, but it looked like his uncle could break the old man in two with no effort. If this man was Remo's teacher, though, he must be capable of more than what met Harry's eye. After a moment Harry intuitively bowed respectfully to him.

Chiun looked at Remo. "You see, Remo? There are manners even here, in this backwards place. This boy understands, unlike his buffoon of an uncle."

"See here, now —" Vernon began, but stopped abruptly when Remo held up a finger for silence. Petunia and Dudley each gave a small shriek of terror and threw their arms around one other.

Harry blinked in surprise. The only person who could make Vernon shut up like that in his own home was his sister Marge!

He turned to find the old Oriental studying him. The little man seemed to look him over very carefully, then suddenly asked, "Your parents lived in a small town in the West Country of England?"

"Uh —" Harry had not expected a question like that. "Er, I don't know, actually, nobody's ever said where they lived," he told the old man. "I've got photographs of them. My friend Hagrid made a book out of them for me."

"May I see it?" Chiun asked.

"Sure, it's —" Harry faltered as he remembered where his book was. He pointed toward the cupboard. "It's in my trunk. In there."

Chiun looked at the cupboard, seeing the newly-installed latch and lock. He turned toward Vernon. "You will allow the boy to get his photographs."

Vernon didn't look very happy being ordered about. "This is _my_ house, isn't it?" he said loudly, the volume of his retort an attempt to hide the fear he felt. When the old man said nothing he grew bolder, adding, "You can't make me show you anything without a search warrant!"

Remo snorted. "You know, sweetheart, I've already proven that you're wrong about that. Do I need to show you again?"

Harry had no love lost on Vernon Dursley, but he couldn't stand by and see him threatened like that. "Please don't hurt him," he said, pleadingly, looking from Remo to Chiun. "This _is_ his house, after all."

Remo started to move toward Vernon, but Chiun held up a hand, stopping him. "The boy is correct, Remo," he said, quietly. "We will observe proper behavior as guests of this house." He turned to Dursley. "Do I have your permission to retrieve the boy's trunk from the cupboard?"

Vernon took this as a sign of weakness. "If you think you can get past that lock and latch," he said, challengingly. "I bought the strongest ones available — you'd need a crowbar to break in there!"

Chiun said nothing, but moved next to the cupboard. His aged, wrinkled fingers reached out, seeming to gently stroke the bolt of the padlock. It fell to the floor in two pieces. _Wandless magic_, Harry thought. That was exactly what he wished he could do to the padlock on Hedwig's cage not long ago! Chiun then tore the latch off the cupboard door with one hand. He walked over to Vernon and put the piece of metal in his hand. "Remo, will you get the boy's trunk from the cupboard?"

Remo went in and pulled the trunk into the hallway, then motioned for Harry to come over. Harry opened the trunk and rummaged around until he found the book of photographs. He brought it over to Chiun, who looked through a few pages before saying, "Yes, these are your parents, James and Lily Potter. I remember them."

"You _remember_ them?" Harry asked, shocked.

Remo was equally surprised. "How do you know who these people are, Chiun? When were you in England without me?"

"It was the day I told you I would be returning to India with the fat little boy who thought he was a maharajah," Chiun replied. "At the end of October in 1981. That was merely a ruse so I could leave you for a while — Emperor Smith asked me to perform a service for the Princess Elizabeth. She had asked specifically for my assistance, and Smith didn't want you to know that I was performing this service for her."

"The Princess Elizabeth?" Remo was confused for a moment. "You mean Queen Elizabeth?"

"Yes, as you say," Chiun nodded. "When I last saw her she was but a princess. She called Emperor Smith's servant, the one they call President, to ask for advice about a madman who had been terrorizing the British Stick Wigglers —"

"Wait a minute," Remo interrupted again. "What are _they_?"

"It is the name Sinanju has given to magical humans in Britain and Europe," Chiun explained. "I flew to England from San Francisco to perform a service for the Princess, to remove the Stick Wiggler called Voldemort before he killed again. Smith gave me information that this Voldemort would be in a town called Godric's Hollow on the thirty-first of October, to murder James and Lily Potter and their son, Harry. It was there in the town square I saw this so-called Dark Lord appear and followed him to the house where Harry's parents lived. But I could not enter — powerful magic prevented me from doing so. Unfortunately, I was not able to stop him before he killed the boy's parents. Then there was a sudden vibration in the ground, and the house appeared, damaged as if from an explosion. But I found the boy, unharmed, in the wreckage of the house."

Harry shook his head, shocked almost beyond speaking. "But," he finally said, "but I was told — they said Hagrid took me out of the house. Hagrid told me so himself!"

Chiun nodded. "The half-giant, yes, he came after the house exploded. So did another man, who arrived on a flying motorcycle."

"Preposterous!" Vernon rumbled, unable to contain himself. Both Chiun and Remo ignored him.

"The two men talked for a few minutes," Chiun continued. "Then the man on the motorcycle gave it to the half-giant, who left with you."

"Who was the man on the motorcycle?" Harry asked.

"The half-giant called him Sirius Black," Chiun said. "He stood in front of the house for several minutes after the half-giant left. He muttered to himself that someone named Pettigrew was behind this, then disappeared in the manner of the Stick Wigglers.

"Afterwards I continued on to India, where I dealt with the fat little false maharajah, then returned to America. I planned to find you again, Harry Potter, after some personal affairs I had to attend to, but events conspired to keep me occupied for many years. I only learned of your whereabouts again a few days ago."

"What do you want with me now?" Harry asked, wondering what had happened to the maharajah the old man mentioned.

"There is a prophecy," Chiun explained. "A prophecy that concerns the demon Tarakasur, a powerful enemy of the gods. No one, not even Shiva himself, can defeat Tarakasur — only the son of Shiva can accomplish this."

Remo snorted derisively. "And _that's_ not going to happen anytime soon," he said.

"How typically white of you," Chiun complained. "You refuse to show proper respect and sire a child, as was foretold in the prophecies. Must I do _everything_ for you?"

Remo shrugged indifferently.

"But," Harry ventured back into the conversation. "What does this have to do with _me_?"

"An apt question," Chiun replied. "When Tarakasur attempted to kill you, you turned his stroke back upon him, forcing him to flee. In doing so, you have proven yourself to be the son of Shiva."

Harry shook his head, not understanding, but Remo had more to say. "How do you figure _that_, Chiun? You couldn't see inside the house — how do you know that's what happened?"

"It is the prophecy," Chiun said adamantly, as if that settled things.

"But what does all that stuff _mean_?" Harry asked.

"It means," Chiun answered him, "that you, Harry Potter, are the avatar of Murugan, Shiva's son, and that you must be the one to destroy Tarakasur. Therefore, I wish for you to leave this place and come with Remo and myself, to learn Sinanju."

"Huh?" Harry said, perplexed.

"_What_?!" Remo exploded. "Chiun, what the hell?! Is _that_ what we're here for? Why didn't you tell me?"

"The decision is not yours to make, Remo," Chiun replied. "It is the boy's."

"He doesn't even know what you're asking of him!" Remo snapped.

"That is why I am trying to explain it to him," Chiun retorted. "Except that you keep interrupting."

"And all these years," Remo pointed out, "you've been telling me that you couldn't find anyone worthy in your own village, or in all of Korea, to receive Sinanju, and now you're offering it to some _kid_ —"

"Remo," Chiun said curtly, cutting him off, and Remo stopped talking.

Harry was looking back and forth, from Remo to Chiun. It was true — he had no idea what this Sinanju was or why the aged Oriental wanted to teach it to him.

"I know what _I_ am asking of _him_," Chiun said to Remo.

"Oh, really?" Remo retorted sarcastically. "How do you know he's worthy?"

"He is worthy," Chiun maintained.

"How?" Remo asked hotly. "_How_ do you know that?"

"He fulfills the prophecy of the son of Shiva."

"Aaah. More of that prophecy crap," Remo grumbled. "You've never mentioned anything about a 'son of Shiva' prophecy to me before."

"Be silent, Remo," Chiun said, with a tone of finality. "I will explain after I have examined the boy."

"Examine me?" Harry repeated. He looked at Remo. "Why does he need to examine me?"

"That's what I'd like to know!" Vernon snorted.

"Silence, white thing," the old man said sharply, and all three of the Dursleys pulled back in fear. Harry blinked; he'd only seen his uncle act this way once, when confronted by Hagrid, who was nearly twice his size. This small Oriental man was barely taller than Harry. Harry watched the old man carefully, wondering what it was about him that Vernon Dursley feared.

Chiun was looking at Harry's feet. "The feet are typical white," he muttered, directing his words to Remo. "Much like yours were when I first saw you. And he is a meat-eater, of course."

"No surprise there," Remo remarked. "I suppose that disqualifies him?"

"You were a meat-eater, too," Chiun reminded him. "Though it took you nearly a decade to quit that disgusting habit for good."

"So I liked steak and hamburger," Remo shrugged. "They didn't kill me."

"They came close," Chiun retorted. "Closer than the chair that burned your wrists and feet did."

Harry was completely lost in this conversation. He looked back at Remo again. "You were almost killed by a _chair_? A chair that _burned_ you?"

"It's a long story," Remo muttered. "Don't talk, just stand there."

Harry turned back to the old man, whose eyes were still moving slowly up his body. "He appears underdeveloped," Chiun said, "though I see new muscle in his arms and wrists."

Harry looked at his arms. They didn't look any different to him, but — "I started playing Quidditch last year," he said. "You use your arms a lot when you're —"

"Silence," the old man ordered, and Harry quit talking, feeling put upon. He was just trying to explain why his arms might have more muscles now. Flying a broom was a lot of work, even if it was like second nature to him.

The old man's eyes continued to rise. "His breathing is atrocious." He shook his head. "But that is to be expected as well — none of you whites understand proper breathing or its importance."

Harry was beginning to feel really insulted now. What did it matter that he was white? Skin color didn't have anything to do with what kind of person you were! "How can there be a proper way to breathe?" he asked, impulsively. "Isn't breathing the same for everyone?"

Chiun's eyes finally met his. "It is not," the old man stated flatly. "Breathing is everything. It is the first thing you do in life, and the last. Very few understand proper breathing. It is well for you to hear this, young white man, if you are to follow the path that will lead you to Sinanju."

Remo snorted derisively.

"Why — why would I want to learn this Sinanju, whatever it is?" Harry asked. "What's it going to do for me?"

Chiun's nearly nonexistent eyebrows rose. "What will Sinanju do for you? It is the most precious gift in the world! In thousands of years, only a few have been given the honor of possessing it. My son Remo here is the first non-Korean to be taught Sinanju."

"But what am _I_ supposed to do with it?" Harry wanted to know.

"To destroy the demon that killed your parents," Chiun answered. "Only you can do this."

"I —" Harry didn't know what to say to that. "But what if I — I don't even know what Sinanju is. Or what demon you're talking about." Harry pointed at Remo. "Does your — er, does Remo know anything about Sinanju?"  
"Of course I do," Remo said, irritated. "Chiun, I don't know why you think I couldn't handle this 'demon' you're talking about."

"Of course you do not," the old man replied placidly. "Your white arrogance blinds you to the prophecies of Sinanju. It was foretold that not even Shiva himself could destroy the demon Tarakasur when they fought one another."

Chiun turned to Harry. "But when Tarakasur tried to kill _you_, you did not follow your parents into death. You cast death back upon him, causing his body to explode, destroying half of your home. But even that did not harm you, for I found you alive and whole within the wreckage. And I have found you again this day."

"_I_ found him, Chiun," Remo pointed out. "But if I'd known you were planning something like _this_ —"

"Jealousy ill-becomes you, Remo," Chiun reproached him. "The child will not replace you."

"_That's_ comforting," Remo growled. "Especially since you keep saying that I'm the only one you've found that's worthy of Sinanju. No one, not even people from your own village, could do what I've done."

"Yes, your ability to complain is without peer," Chiun retorted. "Though I have managed to take a pale piece of pig's ear and make of it someone barely adequate in the perfection of the Sun Source."

Remo blew a raspberry.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Harry said into the silence that followed. "Whatever Sinanju is, I don't need it. I'm going to be a wizard."

Chiun stared at him, incredulous. "A wizard? I offer you the most cherished gift in the world, the sun source of perfection, and you reject it? How typically white."

"Why do you keep saying that about white people?" Harry demanded. "What difference does it make what color we are?"

"It makes a great deal of difference," Chiun said seriously. "Have you ever heard the story of how the Supreme Being created man?"

Harry shook his head.

"Here we go," Remo said, putting a hand over his face. "Chiun, you've only told that story about five hundred times," he pointed out.

"But never to this boy," Chiun countered, reasonably. Remo just shrugged as if he didn't care.

"When the Supreme Being created man," Chiun began, "he put a lump of clay in the cosmic oven. And when he took it out, he said, 'It is underdone. This is no good. I have created a white man.'"

Harry frowned, but Chiun ignored him and continued. "Then he put another lump of clay in the oven, and to compensate for his error, he left it in longer. When he took it out he said, 'Oh, I have failed again. I have left it in too long. This is no good. I have created a black man.'" Harry looked at Remo, eyes wide in disbelief, but Remo just shook his head as if to say, _You asked for it, kid._

"And then," Chiun went on, "he put another lump of clay in the oven, this time a superior clay, molded with more care and love and integrity, and when he took it out he said, 'Oh, I have done it just right. I have created —"

"Wait for it," Remo muttered.

"— a yellow man,'" Chiun finished proudly, then glared at Remo for his impertinence. "There is more, but the important fact is that the yellow man has been properly made, needing no further refinement."

"That sounds like a fairy tale," Harry replied skeptically.

"So do stories of wizards and giants," Chiun pointed out, "to those who have never met any." Harry didn't say anything.

"Do you believe this demon who tried to kill you is a fairy tale?" Chiun asked.

Harry shook his head. "I know he's not. He tried to kill me again, just a few weeks ago."

"What do you intend to do about that?" the old Oriental asked. "Will he succeed the next time you meet?"

"I — I don't know," Harry stammered. "I —"

"You don't _know_?" Chiun snapped. "Who protects you?" He pointed to the Dursleys. "Do they? These people do not even want you here!"

"They're my family," Harry protested, weakly. He knew the Dursleys had little use for Harry other than the work his aunt and uncle made him do around their home, and they begrudged him even the meager food they gave him to eat.

"They do not wish to be," Chiun insisted. "It is written clearly across their dull, white faces. They wish you to be gone."

Vernon, whose jaw had been clenching tightly whenever Chiun spoke about him, had finally had enough. "Too right we want him gone!" he shouted. "He should never have been left with us in the first place! That ruddy letter said we had to take care of him —"

Harry started. "What letter?" he asked sharply, forgetting that his uncle hated hearing him speak up, saying it was impudent for a boy to talk back to his elders (never mind that Dudley did so all the time). "What do you mean it said you had to take care of me?"

Petunia, who had gone pale when her husband mentioned the letter, wrung her hands for a moment then disappeared into the kitchen. She returned a moment later holding a parchment envelope similar to the one that Hagrid had given Harry, but with the words

**Mrs. Petunia Evans Durlsey  
****The Largest Bedroom  
****4 Privet Drive  
****Little Whinging  
****Surrey**

written on it in Professor Dumbledore's flowing handwriting.

Vernon Dursley's already florid face turned purple when he saw it. "I told you to destroy that!" he shouted at her. "What are you doing with it?!"

But Petunia only shook her head, stepping around Vernon to hand the envelope to Harry. Harry looked at her, then at the envelope. He slid the letter out and began to read,

_1 November 1981_

_My Dearest Petunia,_

_ I trust this letter finds you well. It has been some time since our last correspondence, and I hope there are no unpleasant feelings held over from my inability to allow you to attend Hogwarts with your sister, Lily._

_ Unfortunately, the situation we find ourselves in today is much more grave and troubling than educational eligibility. Your sister and her husband have become the victims of a dreadful attack by an individual calling himself Lord Voldemort — an attack that has left them both, tragically, deceased._

_ Their son, Harry, whom you have no doubt by this time found among these blankets at your front door, was able to survive an attack by Lord Voldemort due to the selfless sacrifice of your sister, who gave up her life to protect her son. His attacker has left England, his power broken, perhaps forever._

_ However, this leaves young Harry in the unenviable position of being parentless at a time when he requires much care, not the adulation and praise of our Wizarding community, who will certainly see him as a hero and will place him, needlessly, in the spotlight for years to come. It is my wish that Harry's life be as normal as possible, and to this end I request that you look after him in your home as if he were your own child, not as a hero of the Wizarding World._

_ I have another reason for asking this of you, Petunia — as his mother's sister, I have extended the magical protection his mother's blood sacrifice has given him to you, so that as long as he can call your home his as well, that protection will continue until he reaches his majority. _

_ When the time is ripe, I will contact you once again, in order to give Harry the opportunity to return to the Wizarding world and to his destiny in our community. With utmost gratitude for your understanding and cooperation._

_Your servant,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Harry looked up at his aunt. "You wanted to get into Hogwarts with your sister?" he asked, in shock. His aunt had never shown the least inclination or interest in magic — quite the opposite, Harry thought.

Petunia looked embarrassed. "Why should she be the only one to learn magic?" she said, tartly. "Lily was given everything she ever wanted, and I had _nothing_! She came home from that school every summer and refused to do any magic around the house, none at all! She said she wasn't supposed to — a likely story!"

"No, that's true," Harry told her. "We're not supposed to do magic out of school until we come of age."

Petunia shook her head, as if not believing Harry. "It doesn't matter anyway," she said dismissively. "She ran off and got married to that Potter fellow right out of school. My parents thought he was oh-so-wonderful, just right for her, but I could see he was no good —"

"Stop it!" Harry said, becoming angry. "You don't know anything about my father!"

"We know he was a freak, just like your mother!" Vernon shouted, but he quickly shrank back when Chiun turned toward him.

"Do you wish to remain with these people?" Chiun asked Harry. "Or would you rather come with us? I offer you the opportunity to learn Sinanju, a gift bestowed on only one other white man in its entire history."

Harry could see from Remo's expression that he didn't like that idea at all. Harry wasn't too sure about it himself. "What about school? I don't want to give up on being a wizard."

"I will find a suitable private tutor for your education as a wizard," Chiun promised him. "You will learn both magic and Sinanju."

"But — _why_?" Harry finally burst out. "Why do you want to teach me this Sinanju, whatever it is?" Harry waited for an answer, and Remo's eyes were on Chiun as well, waiting to hear what he would say.

Chiun was silent a moment before he spoke. "There was a prophecy in the history of my village that spoke of a dead man whom I would make whole once again, a man who would become the avatar of Shiva, the Destroyer." His voice became rhythmic. "And lo, though that man was a pale white man, a meat eater and a defiler of his own body, I the Gracious Master of Sinanju was able to transform that pale piece of pig's ear into a Master of Sinanju." Chiun's eyes flicked toward Remo. "There he stands before you now."

Remo folded his arms across his chest, looking stubborn. "You made that up, Chiun," he said, flatly. "That's not in the records of Sinanju."

Harry looked at Remo. There wasn't anything unusual about him, Harry, thought, except he did notice he had thick wrists, suitable for holding onto a broom or gripping a Beater's bat. Whatever the old man expected Harry to see, however, he wasn't getting it. How would Harry know what a Master of Sinanju even _was_, much less what one looked like?

"Then, one evening years later, as I further contemplated the wisdom of my ancestors," Chiun went on, "I found another passage, one hidden by an unfortunate fold in one of my ancient, delicate scrolls, a passage unseen for many years, perhaps for centuries, for none of the Masters before me had written of it. I read that passage and discovered there another prophecy of the Great Wang."

Harry blinked. Huh? The Great Wang? There was a giggle from where the Dursleys stood, suddenly muffled as Dudley disappeared behind his parents. Chiun looked at them, seemingly baffled by the outburst, then turned back to Harry.

"The Great Wang was the greatest of the Masters of Sinanju," Chiun continued. "It was he who first understood proper breathing and control, after meditating for five days and nights alone. It was he who made the prophecy of the dead night tiger. I read this new prophecy, one that had escaped the eyes of so many previous Masters of Sinanju, never dreaming that it would come to pass so soon after it was revealed to me."

"When did you come across this prophecy?" Remo asked, still skeptical. "You've never mentioned anything about it to me."

"Why would I? It was not about you," Chiun replied. "And as you consider the prophecies of Sinanju to be 'crap,' as you say, I saw no reason to give you further cause to malign the wisdom of my ancestors." Remo rolled his eyes.

"What did the prophecy say?" Harry asked.

Chiun's eyes took on a faraway look. "'And lo, though the avatar of Shiva will walk among men, the dead night tiger made whole by the Master of Sinanju, there shall come one after him, a man who cannot be destroyed by the demon of Death itself, the one demon not even Shiva can defeat. This man, the son of Shiva, shall deliver death unto Death itself, by the will of Shiva.'"

Chiun's eyes focused on Harry again. "The Dark wizard your kind calls Voldemort is the demon Death, though he fears it, and he was unable to cause your death, though he still attempted to strike you down, and will try yet again. One of you must prevail. I offer you Sinanju so that you will be the one, if you are worthy."

Harry didn't know what to say. He still didn't know what Sinanju was, though he had to admit, he had never seen his aunt or uncle so intimidated by someone who looked as harmless as this Oriental man who stood before him did. A mere look from the old man had been enough to make Vernon Dursley cower in fear from him; Harry wished he knew what had happened before he came downstairs.

And if the old man's promise was true and he would be taught magic as well as Sinanju, he would be out of this house and with someone who wanted him. Remo, the younger man with the old Oriental, didn't seem too happy with the idea of Harry going with them; maybe he _was_ jealous, like Chiun had suggested, but even dealing with Remo's jealousy would be better than the hostility and isolation he would have to endure if he stayed here. Even if his aunt was following Dumbledore's request, she'd never treated him remotely like family, like the professor had asked her to. Harry finally made up his mind.

"I agree," he said to Chiun. "I'll go with you."

Petunia managed to look both horrified and relieved. "What will I tell Dumbledore?" she whispered.

Vernon and Dudley were both elated. "Hmph," Vernon snorted, folding his arms across his beefy chest. "Good riddance, then, I say. If you want to leave with these freaks, boy, then hurry up and get out!"

"I've got to get Hedwig!" Harry said, racing up the stairs.

"Get the boy's belongings, Remo," Chiun ordered. For a long moment Remo stood stock-still, as if he would refuse to obey; then he reached down and picked up Harry's trunk with one hand, following Chiun to the door. Seconds later Harry came down the stairs carrying a birdcage with a white owl in it. Chiun and Remo were standing at the front door waiting for him.

"My broom, too," Harry said, pulling the Nimbus Two Thousand out of the cupboard. "Okay, I'm ready."

"What did you do at that school, kid?" Remo asked, staring at the broom in his hand. "Were you the janitor or something?"

"Come, Harry," Chiun said, ignoring Remo's jibe, and the two of them walked out the front door, with Remo following behind, carrying the trunk.

Just outside the front door Remo stopped and looked back at the Dursleys. "See you around, Chuckles," he said to Vernon, who remained silent until Harry and the two men had gotten into their car and drove off up Privet Drive, heading back toward London.

"Good riddance," Dursley finally muttered, seeing the car disappear up the road. "Now things can get back to normal around here."

"I hope you're right about that," Petunia murmured, still worried what would happen if Dumbledore got word of what had happened with Harry.

"Course I'm right!" Vernon announced, really happy again for the first time since that wretched boy had been found on their doorstep. "And the boy's not coming back here again, no matter what! Come on, Dudders," he said, tousling his son's hair. "Let's go watch some telly."

At the corner of the block a gray-haired woman dressed in a tartan-patterned housecoat and slippers and carrying a string shopping bag filled with tins of cat food in one hand watched anxiously as the car carrying Harry Potter drove away. Harry, glancing out the window, saw her and waved as he went by. _Oh dear Merlin_, Arabella Figg thought, _Dumbledore has to hear about this_! She turned and hurried toward her home two streets away, on Wisteria Walk, to compose a letter to the headmaster. As far as she knew Harry was supposed to remain at 4 Privet Drive for most of the summer, until a few weeks before school began in September, when he'd be taken to the Weasley home in Devon. If Mundungus Fletcher had forgotten to tell her about a change in plans, she was going to wring his scrawny neck!

**=ooo=**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, remembered the first time he'd really considered the various uses of the _Trace_, the enchantment placed on all newborn witches and wizards in Wizarding Britain. He had learned that the enchantment would allow a wizard to be located should he be separated or taken from his family. For that reason, young Albus had thought it a very good idea indeed.

It had been in his third year of school, also at Hogwarts where he attended, when he'd overheard one of the Muggleborn students complaining that he'd gotten a letter from the Ministry accusing him of performing magic in his home with Muggles nearby.

Wizarding secrecy laws forbade any underage wizards from performing magic where Muggles, the name witches and wizards had given nonmagical folk, could see them. The Muggleborn had objected, saying he was just practicing magic in his room, locked so no one could walk in on him, but the Ministry had said that no magic was supposed to be practiced outside of school.

At the time, Dumbledore had thought that strange, since he had practiced magic many times himself at home over the past two summer holidays, and no letter from the Ministry had ever come to him. The application of these rules seemed inconsistent to him. It was not long, however, before he realized that the inconsistency was deliberate; the Ministry discouraged the practice of magic amongst Muggleborn and half-blood wizards, but allowed pure-blood families like his own to practice magic freely. While the young Dumbledore had not exactly agreed with that disparity, he understood that Muggles must not learn that the Wizarding world existed. They had known, long ago, that witches and wizards were real, but once the secrecy laws had been put into place they became legendary, a part of the mythology and folklore of nations and cultures around the world.

And now, the Trace had been used to perform the function Dumbledore believed it was originally created for: discovering the location of an underage wizard separated from his family. He had received Mrs. Figg's owl warning him that Harry had left the Dursley home earlier that evening, and was now in a London Muggle hotel with the two men who had taken him. Why they had taken Harry, or even how they found him, was unknown; when he had talked to the Dursleys earlier that evening they could offer no reason for the men's appearance or why they had taken Harry, beyond remembering the words "Sinanju" and "prophecy." Dumbledore had no idea what "Sinanju" meant, beyond being a small village in the north of Korea, on the West Korean Bay, according to the geography he had learned more than a hundred years ago.

Nor was there a way any Muggle could know of the prophecy concerning Voldemort and Harry — of that, Dumbledore was certain. No other person on Earth knew the entire prophecy that Sybill Trelawney had spoken in his presence at the Hog's Head Inn that cold, wet night in 1980 — not even Sybill herself, who had been in a Seer's trance. Even Harry, too young yet to understand the danger that mere words had him put in, had not been told.

It was imperative that Harry be returned to number four, Privet Drive. The magic that had protected Harry from Voldemort had been extended to his sister's blood, giving him protection from the dark wizard and his followers as long as he could call her house his home as well. While Death Eaters would most certainly wish to take Harry, not even the most powerful of them could approach the Dursley home while the blood protection was in place. No one in the Wizarding world would have remembered the relationship between Lily Evans and Petunia Dursley neé Evans. Indeed, even though Dumbledore had placed a member of the Order of the Phoenix in the neighborhood with Harry, a Squib who understood Muggle ways, to watch over him, not one of Voldemort's followers had ever approached the home.

Into the dark, still hotel room where Harry slept, the tall, thin figure of Albus Dumbledore suddenly and silently appeared. He looked slowly about the room. It was very nice, as hotel rooms went, with a queen-sized bed, a fine oaken dresser, a writing desk, even a small Muggle refrigeration unit. Curious, Dumbledore wiggled a finger at the refrigerator door and it opened. Inside were several bottles of water and soft drinks. The door closed again on its own.

Harry was breathing softly and rhythmically, the sleep of the innocent. Dumbledore had decided he would quietly enter the room Harry was in and safely remove him to the Burrow, where the Weasleys would welcome him with open arms. He would then return to the hotel to find out what the two men who had kidnapped him from 4 Privet Drive wanted with him.

Albus Dumbledore moved forward silently, putting a hand out so he could cover Harry's mouth should the boy cry out when he awoke. Only one of the men was in the room next door, but it wouldn't do for him to hear anything going on in here, though Dumbledore foresaw no difficulty if something like that occurred. The man, after all, was old and frail, and only a Muggle.

As his hand moved toward Harry's mouth, however, a thin, aged hand suddenly clamped onto his wrist with surprising strength. Dumbledore's left hand instantly moved, reaching for the wand hidden within his robes. His fingers clutched only empty air, and he was spun around to face his attacker.

An elderly Oriental man stood before him, placing a finger to his lips to indicate Dumbledore should remain quiet. His other hand lightly held Dumbledore's wand. The Oriental took his finger away from his lips, whispering, "Do not wake the boy."

Dumbledore nodded agreement, but at the same time he silently called to his wand to return to him. The wand did not budge from the old Oriental's hand, though he held it with only two fingers. Dumbledore urged it again, but the wand refused to come. This was an interesting wrinkle in his plan, Dumbledore thought bemusedly.

The old Oriental put his hand on Dumbledore's upper arm, near his shoulder, and the headmaster felt his feet moving him away from the bed to the corner near the door to the room. It was as if his legs were moving of their own accord. It was quite fascinating, really, Dumbledore thought, even as he wondered what kind of control this ancient Oriental was exercising over him, to force him to move this way against his will. A non-magical Imperius curse?

Finally they were standing in a far corner of the room. The old man released Dumbledore's arm. "You are Dumbledore, correct?" he asked, in a very quiet voice.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "I am the Headmaster of the school Harry attends. How do you know of me?"

"The boy's aunt gave him a letter you placed with him when you left him at their home," the old man said.

"Who are you and what do you want with the boy?" Dumbledore asked, staring into the Oriental's eyes, hoping to get answers from the man's mind even if he refused to answer.

But Chiun answered immediately. "I am Chiun, the Reigning Master of Sinanju. I wish to train him in the ways of Sinanju, according to the prophecy of my ancestors. If he is the one we have awaited these many centuries, he is the only one who can stop the death demon who tried to kill him eleven years ago."

"The death demon?" Dumbledore repeated. "Do you mean Voldemort?"

"The demon who killed the boy's parents in their home eleven years ago," Chiun answered. "He attempted to kill the boy, but the boy turned his death stroke back upon him, defeating the demon but not killing him."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "That is in essence what happened. But what is this boy to you, if I may ask? And how were you able to approach me without my knowledge and take my wand? No Muggle has ever been able to do that before."

"I am not a Muggle, o wizard," Chiun answered loftily. "I am Sinanju."

"You can perform magic, then?" Dumbledore asked.

"Sinanju is not magic," Chiun replied. "It is life perfected by the sun source and experienced to its fullest. I offered it to the boy and he has accepted, but I will not know for some time if he will be worthy of it."

"If Sinanju is not magic, then what is it?" Dumbledore persisted, intrigued by this old man and his mysterious ways. Not unlike Dumbledore himself, for the headmaster loved to present himself as an enigma to be pondered over and guessed at by others.

"Sinanju is Sinanju," Chiun merely stated. "Could you explain magic in a mere handful of words to one who has never experienced it? So, too, is Sinanju something that only those who can accept it are able to understand."

"Then what do you do with it?" Dumbledore asked, trying a new tack.

"We bring beauty and elegance to the world," Chiun said, "by removing that which causes disharmony and conflict." Which was true, Dumbledore saw in the man's eyes, but there was something else he wasn't saying.

"How, exactly, do you do this?" Dumbledore further inquired, wondering just what the man was hiding from him. "If Harry is to triumph over this death demon, or Lord Voldemort as we call him, what will you teach him?"

"He will be taught how to live to the fullest of his ability," Chiun said. "That is what will triumph over death. Life."

That wasn't really the answer Dumbledore wanted, but, "Are you sure Harry will be able to learn this Sinanju?" he asked, his eyes still on Chiun's.

"Nothing is certain," Chiun said. "One cannot pour the ocean into a teacup. If the boy is worthy of Sinanju, and capable of learning it, I will know within a year or two."

"And if he is not worthy, what will you do then?"

"Then I will return him to you, so you may do what you can with him," Chiun said. "After all, it is possible he will succeed only with magic and whatever training I am able to give him. Or, if you wish, you may ask for my help with this death demon Voldemort of yours."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I am afraid, Master of Sinanju, that we have a prophecy ourselves, one that says that only Harry can kill Voldemort. You could not kill him."

"No need to be insulting," Chiun said warningly, though his tone was mild. "But as you do not understand Sinanju I will let it pass this time. Now, I will return your wand and allow you to leave."

Chiun began to hand over Dumbledore's wand, but suddenly withdrew it. "Ah — I do have a question for you, Headmaster of Harry's school. Harry has asked to continue his learning in your ways of magic, and this is advisable in case he proves unworthy of the perfection of Sinanju. Therefore, I request the name of a tutor who will be able to stay with Harry and train him in magic while he attempts to master the Sun Source."

"Hmm," Dumbledore pondered that for a few moments. "I do know a wizard who would be able to tutor Harry in magic while he is with you. I can write his name down for you."

"Excellent," Chiun smiled for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival. "Please do so." Dumbledore took a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill from his robes and wrote a name down on the parchment, giving it to the Oriental. "I will have him get in touch with you, if that's convenient."

"We move about quite often," Chiun said, accepting the parchment from the wizard. "Will this man be able to find us?"

"I will be able to find you the same way I found Harry," Dumbledore said. "We are able to locate wizards who are not yet fully grown by means of an enchantment cast on them at birth."

"Ah," Chiun said, nodding. "Quite ingenious."

"I too have a request, Master of Sinanju," Dumbledore said. "I have grown quite fond of Harry in the year he has been at my school; perhaps it is just the sentimentality of an old man, but I would like to have a memento from him before I leave. With your permission, of course."

"What do you wish?" Chiun asked.

"A lock of his hair," Dumbledore said.

Chiun was silent, considering, but he could see no harm in leaving a mere lock of hair with the old wizard. "As you wish," he said, handing Dumbledore's wand back to him then moving toward the bed where Harry slept. As Dumbledore watched with keen interest, the old Oriental took a lock of hair by his fingtertips, passing his other hand over the boy's head. The hair came away from Harry's head, though Dumbledore had not seen a knife or scissors in the old man's hand. Chiun returned, handing the lock of hair to the wizard, who produced a small vial, placing the hair inside it.

"Let us leave the boy to rest for the night." Chiun took Dumbledore by the elbow, and again the professor felt his feet move of their own accord. Within moments they had slipped through the door and out of the room.

In the corridor, Chiun faced Dumbledore but did not bow. "Return in a year's time and we will discuss whether the boy will continue in the way of Sinanju or whether he should return with you to your Stick Wiggler training." Dumbledore noted the term the old man used for wizards but said nothing.

But as Chiun turned to leave Dumbledore spoke. "Master of Sinanju, I feel I should warn you of the danger Harry is in."

Chiun turned back to him. "Danger? Nonsense. As you say, he is with the Master of Sinanju now. He is the most well-protected child in the world."

But Dumbledore continued. "Nevertheless, there may be men looking for him, men who would stop at nothing to destroy him, including Voldemort himself, if he is able to regain his former power."

Chiun gave Dumbledore a penetrating stare. "If he was in such danger, o wizard, then why was he staying with those who did not wish his presence? If men seek to kill him, why was he so inadequately defended?"

"There were powerful enchantments placed on that home," Dumbledore replied. "His mother died protecting him from Voldemort, and she used to death to evoke a powerful protection on Harry, protection against the wizard—"

"The demon," Chiun corrected.

"As you say," Dumbledore nodded. "From the 'demon' that killed his mother. "When I placed Harry with his aunt and uncle, I extended that magical protection to his aunt's blood. Neither Voldemort nor anyone who follows him can enter or even approach that house, and if they try to touch Harry directly the protection will hurt them greatly.

"But that protection remains in effect only while Harry can call that house his home, while his aunt and uncle give him houseroom there," the old wizard explained. "Harry must spend at least a week in their home every year for that to continue. I therefore ask that you allow him to return to number 4 Privet Drive for one week so that he may be protected for at least one more year."

"That will not be necessary," Chiun said, gently. "I will see that no harm comes to him."

Dumbledore nodded but he was by no means giving up the argument. "Perhaps you judge the danger he is in by our current interaction. I assure you, Master of Sinanju, I am being quite pleasant compared to how the followers of Voldemort will act if they come to take Harry from you."

Chiun put his hands together before him, palms against one another. "And I assure _you_, Headmaster of Harry's school, that I have been quite pleasant as well." He bowed, leaning forward so Dumbledore could see the back of his nearly bald head.

But when Chiun stood again, he held an object in his hand that wasn't there before. Dumbledore's wand. Startled, Dumbledore reached for the pocket where he had hidden his wand. It was no longer there. "How could you —"

"I am the Master of Sinanju, o wizard," Chiun replied, handing the wand back to Dumbledore. "It is my business to know as much about my enemy as possible."

"I am not your enemy, sir," Dumbledore pointed out. "We should consider ourselves friends who wish Harry to be safe from the hands of those who would do him harm."

"He will be safe," Chiun assured him. "For if a hand reaches out to do Harry Potter harm, I will see that hand, and that will be the last thing that hand ever does." Chiun turned and walked into the door next to Harry's.

Dumbledore stood still for nearly a minute, thinking about the words and actions of the old man. He had to admit he was impressed, even if he still didn't know what this Chiun, this Reigning Master of Sinanju, as he called himself, intended to teach Harry. The old man had done things Dumbledore had considered impossible for a Muggle. Could the things he might teach Harry have to do with part of the prophecy, the "power the Dark Lord knows not?" Without knowing more about Sinanju, there was no way to tell.

But more immediate concerns were pressing, notably Harry's absence from Hogwarts in the upcoming school year. Something would have to be done about that, Dumbledore decided — and he had already taken steps to remedy that situation as much as possible. Time would tell whether Harry was worthy to receive this Sinanju or not — but for now Dumbledore would make sure he would receive regular updates on Harry's progress with the old man. Silently, he vanished from the hotel corridor, leaving it empty and still once again.

**=ooo=**

**Author's Note: There are a few stories in fanfiction dot net that feature Chiun and Remo Williams. One of them is in chapter three of "Harry Potter Versus," one of my stories. Another one with only Remo is "Remo the Vampire Slayer" by Guy Fox, posted on Jan 13, 2001. This story is a de facto crossover between the Destroyer book series and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I also found a story called "The Destroyer vs The Sith," by RogerD, last updated on Feb 7, 2008. In this story Remo and Chiun take on the Sith from the Star Wars universe. **

**The most notable past entry is "Harry Potter and the Sun Source," by Clell65619, last updated on May 3, 2012. This fic asks what would have happened if Chiun had taken Harry from the Dursleys' doorstep the night he was left there, and Harry grew up being trained by the Master of Sinanju. I enjoyed this last story the most. If you dear readers know of any other fanfiction stories featuring Remo and/or Chiun, on this site or elsewhere, please let me and the other readers know.**

**This story will look at what might happen if Harry is exposed to both the British wizarding world and the training of Sinanju. Unlike the Sun Source fic, Harry doesn't meet Remo and Chiun until after his first year at Hogwarts. **

**Now that Harry is with Remo and Chiun, how will Dumbledore deal with his absence from wizarding Britain? I expect some of you have some ideas on that. So do I, of course. In chapter two, we will see how Dumbledore plans to keep tabs on Harry as he is trained in the ways of Sinanju. And don't forget about Remo, who does not seem pleased that Chiun has chosen to train another white man, something Remo thought only he was capable of. **


	2. His Name Was Remus

.

**Chapter Two**

**His Name Was Remus**

_First updated 6/27/2014 _

**=ooo=**

His name was Remo and he was happy tonight as he moved through the streets of London on his way to his next assignment. Real happiness didn't happen very often in Remo's life, which probably had something to do with the work he did.

He killed people.

Chiun, his teacher, was the Reigning Master of Sinanju. The House of Sinanju had been in the assassination business for thousands of years now; the name had been whispered by the lips of warlords, kings, caliphs, dictators, emperors and presidents for centuries. Their skill was considered unmatched by anyone in the world. All other types of armed and unarmed combat, all other forms of killing were mere shadows of Sinanju, the Sun Source of all martial arts. Tonight, however, Remo was happy because, at least this one time, he had not been ordered to kill.

That didn't happen often. Remo was the enforcement arm of CURE, a secret organization created by a young President who had been assassinated before the end of his first term — not, as Chiun was always quick to point out, _not_ by the House of Sinanju, which would never use something as barbaric as a bullet propelled from a rifle to assassinate anyone. The person who had killed the young President was a rank amateur, completely ignorant of the finer points of the assassination business. It was small wonder, Chiun had declared, that the assassin had himself been assassinated — probably in retaliation for his amateurish work.

Remo had been brought into CURE in its early days as a contingency — the original plan for the organization was for it to last for five years, handling problems behind the scene that normal government couldn't openly tackle, then disbanding. But five years had come and gone, and the crime and corruption and chaos of the country had continued to increase. By then Remo had been in training with Chiun for years, preparing for the day when he would be needed to act for CURE, was finally called upon for his first mission.

His first mission was to kill the man who had brought him into CURE against his will, Conn MacCleary.

Remo hadn't come to CURE willingly. He'd been an ex-Marine, returned from his hitch in Viet Nam and gone back in his job as a cop in Newark, New Jersey, planning to make detective and marry his girlfriend, when a dope-dealer had turned up dead one morning, beaten to death in a back alley. Next to the body lay a silver badge. The number on the badge was Remo's.

Remo was arrested, all the while loudly protesting his innocence and yelling that it was a frame-up. No one had bought that — not the district attorney who prosecuted him, using the badge as evidence he'd been at the scene of the crime, evidence almost as good as a signed confession. Not the jury, who had sat, horrified by the grisly details of the dead man, who had had no drugs on him when the body was found. Not the judge, who'd been told to make an example of ex-cop Remo Williams for "the greater good."

They put him in a little cell to await execution. He sat there chair-smoking cigarettes. What else was there to do before they came to get him? They'd gotten a priest for him — Remo had been Catholic, growing up in St. Theresa's Orphanage in Newark — but when the priest came in he wasn't what Remo had expected. Dressed in a heavy brown monk's robe, with a hook where his left hand should be, the priest had carried a large black cross with a silver image of Jesus affixed to it. After Remo confessed his sins, the priest had asked him, "Do you want to save your soul, or your ass?"

On the black cross, under Christ's feet, was a little black pill. The hook-handed priest told Remo to take the pill but not to swallow or bite it until they put him in the chair and strapped the metal helmet on his head. What did he have to lose? Remo took the pill.

The guards walked him into the execution room where the electric chair was waiting for him. There were no visitors there that night; no one but his executioners would see him die. They strapped him in, fastening his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to its legs, attaching wires to them for the electricity to pass through. Finally, they put the helmet on him, fastening it so tight that no part of him could move anymore except his jaw, and that's when he'd bitten into the pill, feeling something warm and sweet mingling with his saliva, and he swallowed it all.

Everything began to go fuzzy after that, fuzzy and dark, and it didn't seem to matter anymore to Remo that they were going to kill him. Someone asked him if he had any last words, but he was drifting down into a soft warm darkness, and he didn't reply. He passed out.

The order was given and the executioner twisted the controls, sending electricity into Remo. His body jerked. The current came again, and the room was filled with a faint pork-like smell of burning flesh. The body went limp.

But Remo Williams wasn't dead. The chair had been tampered with, the generators rigged so they wouldn't deliver a lethal charge — only enough to stun him and burn his flesh. Remo awoke the next day to discover that he was now a man that no longer existed, working for an organization that didn't exist, to uphold the laws of a Constitution that no longer worked. Now he was a part of CURE.

When Remo woke, the priest was standing over him, grinning. He learned that the man's name was Conn MacCleary, and that he was the one who'd framed him for the dope-dealer's murder, set up his execution so he could work for CURE. Remo's comment to MacCleary was, "Good job." It was karmic irony when, sometime later, his first assignment for CURE was to kill McCleary.

MacCleary had been injured during an assignment and was in the hospital, his right arm and leg in a cast, drugged with pain medication, and his new boss, Harold W. Smith, had told Remo they couldn't leave MacCleary alive, that if he talked CURE would be compromised and would have to disband. Remo had gone to the hospital, into room 411 where MacCleary lay waiting for the man who had come to kill him. He had a cracked rib, Remo knew; with the training he'd gotten from Chiun he could reach under the body cast, push that rib into MacCleary's heart, and no one would suspect murder.

But he couldn't do it. Even if MacCleary had framed him, had beaten that dope-dealer to death and dropped Remo's badge next to the body, he couldn't kill the man who had saved him from the electric chair. He left MacCleary in that hospital room, and the man had used his hook to slice his own throat, ensuring no one would make him give up CURE.

Remo went on MacCleary's original mission, to uncover and stop a killed named "Maxwell" — discovering that he _could_ kill when the men he was sent against were evil. Remo had been a patriot in 'Nam, a patriot on the Newark PD, and he was still a patriot, even if he'd been forced into the work he did. He completed the first mission successfully. Then another, and another after that, until nearly 30 years had passed since he'd awakened in Folcroft Sanitarium with Conn MacCleary standing over him, grinning.

Tonight, the mission Remo was on would, for once, not end in death.

He and Chiun had returned to the hotel with the Potter kid, ordering room service for him before putting him to bed in the room adjacent to theirs. Harry had eaten a hamburger, with fries and a soft drink. Remo had watched, amused, knowing that Chiun had allowed the boy a final meal of red meat and "white man's food." The kid would never eat beef or pork again, assuming Chiun decided he was worthy of Sinanju. That was something that not one man in a million was worthy of, Chiun had once said.

There was only one thing Remo wasn't happy about. Chiun had kept the reason for visiting the Potter kid a secret until they got there and it was too late for Remo to find an excuse not to go. Did Chiun really think the kid was going to learn Sinanju, even if he believed Harry was the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy from the scrolls of Sinanju? Remo barely believed _he_ was avatar of Shiva, as Chiun kept insisting.

Remo's target for that evening wasn't far from the hotel they were staying in. He and his family lived in a townhouse in a well-to-do district of London, gated and secured with closed-circuit televisions and roving patrols of Secret Service types who were tasked with the job of guarding British high government officials. None of those things meant anything to Remo, trained in the ways of Sinanju to be in complete harmony with his surroundings. Remo moved through the night and was one with it, silent and all-but-invisible as he vaulted the wall of the gated community, worked his way through the patterns of the closed-circuit surveillance cameras, and stilled his body's pheromone production so he left no scent for dogs to follow. He did all this without conscious thought, for Sinanju trained the body and the mind to work in harmony with each other, to the point where it was almost instinctual.

And he was happy. He was on his way to deliver, not death, but a message.

Inside the townhouse his target, the current Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, was preparing to turn in for the evening. It had been a long day at the end of a long week, and he planned to spend tomorrow with his wife and children without the problems and headaches 10 Downing Street continually forced upon him.

This week there had been a push from certain factions to grant the former Prime Minister, the first woman to hold that office, a life peerage baronetcy so she could join the House of Lords. The Crown dispensed these peerages but as a matter of tradition did not offer them unless the current Prime Minister requested it.

The current Prime Minister was not particularly in favor of giving a life peerage to the former PM. She could not pass her title on to her heirs, but her husband already held a hereditary title; his son was the heir apparent. It seemed an unnecessary concession to the former PM to give _her_ a title as well, and the current Prime Minister wasn't sure it would be a popular move on his part with the people of Britain. His party, under that former Prime Minister, had made some rather unpopular decisions for Britain. Giving a life peerage to her might be seen as favoritism on his part. He preferred to wait at least a few more years before he made that recommendation to the Crown.

But that decision could be dealt with next week. He finished changing into his pyjamas, went through his nightly toilet ritual, then slipped into bed, pulling the bed sheets over him. His wife had elected to stay up and read a while longer, which meant he didn't have to listen to her chatter on about her and the children's day. He normally didn't mind, but tonight he wasn't in the mood. A few moments after getting into bed he was asleep and lightly snoring.

"Hi, Chuckles."

The PM's eyes snapped open, staring in shock at the man standing over his bed. The man was thin, with dark brown hari; he gave the PM a smile and a friendly nod. The Minister lunged across the bed, reaching for the panic button he'd had installed next to the bed — one on either side so both he and his wife could reach it instantly. Whoever this intruder was, he was about to feel the full weight of Specialist Protection, the security force that protected current and previous Prime Ministers.

But his finger never reached the button. Somehow the man was now between him and the button, preventing him from reaching it. He spun back across the bed to hit the button on his side. But amazingly, the man was there, too, still smiling pleasantly at him! Suddenly angry at this intrusion into his howe the PM, not a small man, swung a fist at that smile, hoping to knock it off the man's face, but though the man didn't seem to move his fist connected only air. There was a touch on the side of his hip and the PM collapsed into a heap on the side of the bed, his legs no longer working.

The Minister looked up at the man standing over him. "Right, then," he said with resigned anger. "Get it over with."

"Get what over with?" the man said, still with that infuriating smile on his face.

"You know what I mean," the PM snorted. "You're here to do me, aren't you?"

"You're not really my type, sweetheart," the man said. "But I'm not here to kill you, if that's what you're thinking."

"What — what do you want, then?" the Minister asked, trying to rise but finding his legs no longer obeyed him. "If you weren't sent here to kill me?"

"Not at all," the thin man said happily. "I'm here to give you a warning."

"A warning?" The PM croaked, disbelievingly. "About what?"

"About your predecessor," Remo said.

"My predecessor? I don't understand."

"That makes two of us," Remo said, honestly. Normally, a mission where he didn't have to kill someone was a welcome change of pace, but there were some unusual circumstances behind this one. His boss, Harold W. Smith, had told him that a former President of the United States wanted a favor done for his friend, the former Prime Minister. "You're going to write a letter requesting she be given a life peerage."

The PM blanched. Is _that_ what all this was about? "You're joking!"

"No, I'm serious," Remo advised him.

"You broke into my home to tell me to give that — that _woman_ a recommendation for a peerage?" the PM said, incredulous.

"Apparently other channels weren't working," Remo told him, shrugging.

"And what if I refuse?" the PM said belligerently.

"Then things become a bit more unpleasant, sweetheart," Remo said, still smiling.

"Really? And what if I agree to write the recommendation, but change my mind afterwards?" the PM suggested.

"What, a politician make a promise he doesn't intend to keep?" Remo asked sarcastically. His voice became serious. "In that case, Chuckles, I would be back to see you one more time, and this time death would not be off the table."

The PM almost smirked. Obviously, if Specialist Protection knew someone was after him, security would be doubled or tripled, whatever what needed to make sure he was safe. Surely even someone like this man wouldn't be able to make it through such hardened measures.

But looking into the dark, deep-set eyes of the man before him, the PM knew, somehow, that no amount of protection would be enough to keep him safe from this man. He would find a way, and that would be the end of the PM. "Well," he said slowly. "I suppose I shouldn't go making promises I don't intend to keep, then."

"Good plan," Remo agreed with a curt nod. Before the PM could even flinch, Remo's hand was out and back at his side, and he felt a release of pressure and his legs began working again. "Write the letter first thing tomorrow when you get to the office," Remo said. "And make sure it's announced on the news, so I know you did it. Got that?"

The PM nodded, and Remo turned and walked out the door.

The Minister sat there for several minutes, trying to convince himself that it had merely been a dream, that his mind had concocted all of this as a way of telling him to recommend the former PM for the life peerage in spite of his feelings against it.

But deep down, his gonads told him that it had been real. He laid down in bed, unable to sleep. When his wife came to bed sometime later he pretended to snore softly. The next morning, he dressed quickly and excused himself from the breakfast table without so much as a slice of toast, in a hurry to get the recommendation written and off to the Crown. He ordered a press conference and announced it to the people of Britain in recognition of the former PM's accomplishments during her tenure as PM. It might hurt him in the eyes of the British people, but it was vastly preferable to getting another visit from that thin man with the thick wrists.

**=ooo=**

Back at the hotel, Remo stopped in the lobby to make his check-in call to Harold W. Smith, the man who ran CURE from his office near Long Island Sound in Rye, New York. He did this not because he wanted to keep Smith informed of his activities, or even that he had anything worth reporting in the first place. He did this because if he didn't, Smith would begin complaining about Remo not keeping the lines of communication open, lecturing him that up-to-date information was vital to the operations of CURE, that any breakdown in that communication could cause a cascade effect that might have serious ramifications to the country's security…

Yadda, yadda, yadda. Remo got enough carping from Chiun. He made the call to a phone number written on a scrap of paper he'd hidden in his Remo Pelham passport. Remembering the numbers, as he was supposed to do, was too much work.

The phone made a series of beeps and clicks as his call was routed through several scramblers and isolator circuits. Remo idly rolled a 50-pence coin on its edge back and forth along his index finger, then bounced it up and down like a hackey-sack, making it do half, full and double flips.

"Remo." Smith's lemony voice finally came through the phone line. "I can only ensure ten minutes of full security on this line. Did everything go as expected?" Over the years, Harold W. Smith had learned not to ask if Remo had completed his mission — it tended to annoy Remo into a sullen silence, and Smith preferred a smart-mouthed Remo to a silent one. At least with smart-mouth Remo he could manage to glean a bit of information on how the mission went.

"No problem, Smitty," Remo said, smiling to himself as he imaged the sour-faced director of CURE waiting for Remo to get to the debriefing stage of the phone call. "Laughing boy told me he would write the recommendation for what's-her-name in the morning, and hold a press conference to let everybody know."

"Good," Smith said, relieved. The current President had called a week ago asking for this to be done as a favor to a previous president, one who had been on especially good terms with the former Prime Minister. Normally CURE did not take orders from the President — he could only do two things: make a request of CURE or order it shut down. In this case Smith had decided to honor the request, as other intelligence had suggested that the former Prime Minister would be less of a problem to the United Kingdom overall if she was engaged once again in the affairs of Parliament. "Are you and Chiun coming home today?"

"I don't know," Remo said. His good mood evaporated as he remembered who was upstairs in the room next to his and Chiun's. "You remember that name I had you look up a few weeks ago? That kid here in England?"

"Harry Potter?" Smith recalled the name immediately. It had been an unusual request from Remo. "Yes, I remember. What about him?"

"Chiun had me take him to the kid's house last night," Remo went on. "Said he had some questions for him. Questions about a prophecy in the scrolls of Sinanju. Do you know anything about that?"

"No," Smith answered honestly. "Chiun tells me nothing about the history of his village. He just wants his gold delivered on time."

CURE delivered an annual payment of gold to the village of Sinanju via submarine on November 12th of each year at 3:00 am. The cost of the delivery far outweighed the actual amount of gold itself, even though Smith had doubled the amount several times over the years in order to keep Chiun happy.

"Yeah?" Remo snorted. "Well, this time he wanted something other than gold." He told Smith about the visit to Harry Potter's house and how he had offered to train the boy in Sinanju because of the ancient prophecy he'd found in his scrolls. The kid had accepted and was now asleep in a room adjacent to theirs.

When Remo finished there was a long silence on Smith's end. "I hope this isn't your idea of a joke," Smith finally said. "Because it's not funny."

"You're telling me," Remo snapped. "How come you never told me you had Chiun run off to England to whack some magic bozo who was causing trouble back then?"

"Queen Elizabeth had asked specifically for Chiun," Smith replied, defensively. "She knew of him from when her father negotiated with Chiun to have Adolph Hitler assassinated. We can speak more about this when you return to America —"

"I said I don't know when we're coming back," Remo interrupted. "I'll see you when I see you, Smitty." Before Smith could protest Remo hung up. There, let _him_ stew for a while, he thought vindictively. He left the phone booth and walked across the lobby toward the elevators. A young blond woman, dressed in an elegant black evening gown and swaying slightly, was waiting there. She glanced at Remo as he stopped next to her, then smiled at him appreciatively. Remo nodded politely to her, but stopped breathing as he caught the smell of alcohol on her breath. She was pretty well hammered, he could tell.

The elevator doors opened and Remo waited for the woman to enter first. She wobbled unsteadily into the elevator and leaned against one side as Remo stepped in behind her, moving to the opposite side. Remo pushed the floor for his room and asked her, "What floor?"

"Oh," the woman's smile grew seductive. "The floor you're going to is fine with me."

Remo sighed inwardly. Back when he'd been a cop in Newark, New Jersey, he dreamed of women like this coming on to him, drunk or sober. Most of the time he'd been drinking when he had fantasies like that. Now, after decades of training in Sinanju, he exuded a raw sensuality that many women found irresistible. They threw themselves at him all the time, though mostly not as overtly as this one was doing. What's more, early on Chiun had taught him thirty-seven steps to bring a woman to full arousal before sex. Chiun had said all 37 steps were routinely practiced on Korean women. Having seen some of the women in Chiun's village, Remo imagined the steps were more to distract the man during sex than please the woman.

But as Remo became more and more of Sinanju, his enjoyment of sex had lessened to the point that it was now more of a tactic he used while doing his job than a means of satisfaction. This woman at one time would have been a wet dream to Remo. Now she was just an annoyance to be dealt with.

"Sorry, Toots," Remo muttered. "I'm not in the mood."

The woman jerked as if Remo had slapped her. "Not in the _mood_?" she snapped, insulted. "What are you, gay? Look at me!" She leaned forward, thrusting her ample bosom toward him. "You're turning down a chance at _these_, buster!" She licked her lips lasciviously. "I can make you feel really, _really_ good, baby…"

The elevator doors opened on Remo's floor. He started to step out, but stopped and turned toward the woman, whose eyes were now wide with disbelief. Was this clown really going to pass up a dish like _her_?

"Okay," Remo said, as if he'd suddenly changed his mind. "But we have to go to your room — I'm sharing mine with my father, and he doesn't like to be disturbed at night.

The woman's face had twisted in a wry grin. "Well, we can't go to mine, either," she said. "My, uh, husband is waiting for me there." She looked around at the elevator. "What about right here?"

"In the elevator?" Remo asked. In his pre-Sinanju days the mere mention of having sex in a public elevator would have made him blow his load then and there. "Sure, why not?" He moved toward her, pressing her against the back wall, his right hand taking her left wrist and his other hand pressing softly against her neck.

"Come on, baby," the woman moaned as Remo began the first step: tapping rhythmically on her left wrist in time with her heartbeat. "Do me, baby. Do me. Do me! Yes…"

Instead of increasing the speed of his tapping, however, Remo slowed it down, bringing her heartbeat down from 100 beats per minute to about 50. At the same time, his left hand pressed against arteries and nerves in her neck, stopping both the flow of blood to her brain and the sensation she was suffocating. The woman's head lolled, then drooped against Remo's shoulder as she slipped into unconsciousness. Remo lowered her slowly to the floor of the elevator.

"Was it good for you?" he asked, then turned and walked out of the elevator, pressing the button for the main floor. One of the staff would find her and call her husband to come get her. She was out of his hair, at least.

Remo let himself silently into his room with his keycard, then sat down on the bed. Chiun was lying on a mat next to the bed. He appeared to be asleep, but there were 59 stages of relaxation as practiced by the Master of Sinanju — sleep was number 52. He could be observing Remo right now.

"We had a visitor while you were out." Chiun spoke from the mat, his eyes still closed, every part of his body still and peaceful.

Remo grimaced and looked around the room for a body; that was the usual result when someone disturbed Chiun. "I don't see anyone," he said, seeing no corpse or body parts lying about.

"It was in the boy's room," Chiun added. "The headmaster of Harry's school came to 'save' him from us."

"Great," Remo muttered. He got up off the bed. "Is the body still over there? I hope you didn't let the kid see you whack him."

"The headmaster left an hour ago," Chiun said mildly. "Alive, I might add. He and I decided Harry will remain with us for a year, after which we will meet again to determine what we will do with Harry."

"You let the headmaster live?" Remo gave a low whistle of surprise. "That was mighty white of you, Chiun."

Chiun opened his hazel eyes and sat up, staring at Remo. "Please do not insult me, Remo. The headmaster is old and set in his ways. I, the beneficent Master of Sinanju, merely allow him the opportunity to see the error of his decision to interfere with the prophecies of Sinanju. He will not attempt to 'rescue' Harry Potter again."

"Whoopie," Remo muttered, twirling a finger in the air. "So maybe you can explain to me just what it is _we're_ going to do with him."

Chiun gave Remo a questioning look. "I have already said. I will train him in the ways of Sinanju, if he is worthy. Why do you whites never listen when wisdom is imparted to you?"

"Aha," Remo pointed out, ignoring Chiun's jab. "So you _do_ admit the kid might not be worthy of Sinanju!"

"Can the ocean fit in a teacup? Can the sky be fitted in a bowl?" Chiun asked. "Sinanju cannot be given to everyone. At first I did not believe it could be given to you."

"But you _did_ give it to me," Remo said smugly.

"And you continue to abuse it, and me," Chiun complained. "Instead of using it properly, to bring harmony to the world, you squander it with foolish tasks given to you by the mad Emperor Smith and his lackey, the President."

"What I'm doing for my country is important," Remo said seriously. "Just like you work for your village, even though they don't show a rat's ass worth of gratitude to you."

"They do. They do," Chiun insisted. "You do not see it, Remo — you think of gratitude in the white man's world. Korean gratitude is much more subtle."

"Yeah, right," Remo said, skeptically. "So what kind of gratitude do you think your village will show you when you train _another_ white guy, a kid this time? The first time I was in Sinanju they were calling for my head on a platter."

"But they warmed up to you," Chiun pointed out. Remo barked a laugh. "It's true," Chiun went on. "You proved you were more a son of Sinanju than my own nephew Nuihc was. He had abandoned his duty to the village for his own selfish gains. You sent him home to the sea and the villagers praised you for having the heart of a Korean, even if it was in a pale white man's body."

"_You_ zapped Nuihc, remember?" Remo reminded him. "I saw your fingernail was red with blood when he fell. Not a very good stroke, by the way, if you ended up with blood on you."

"I was in a hurry to save you," Chiun retorted. "Enough of this, Remo —"

"No, it's not," Remo interrupted. "Something else has been bothering me. You're only supposed to train one Master of Sinanju at a time. Wasn't that what Master Wang commanded?"

"It is," Chiun agreed, after a moment. "But —"

"But nothing," Remo cut him off. "You're going to go against your own traditions by training me and that kid! Unless," he added slowly. "You don't intend to train _me_ anymore."

"Cease this useless prattle!" Chiun commanded. "Remo, I have said the boy will not replace you."

"Then how can you train both of us?" Remo wanted to know. "Huh? How are you going to keep from going against thousands of years of tradition? How, huh?"

Chiun looked at him for a long moment. "I will ask my ancestors for guidance," he said, then closed his eyes and lay back on the mat, ignoring Remo.

Remo snorted softly to himself, irritated that Chiun had gotten around answering his question, but he knew better than to disturb the Master of Sinanju at his rest. He slipped off his loafers and lay down on the bed.

After three decades of training Remo needed less than 30 minutes of sleep a night. It was still several hours before morning, so he could get in some exercise before then. Lying on the mat, he brought his heart rate up to 150 beats per minute. He visualized the stairs leading up from the main floor of the hotel all the way up to the penthouse.

Then Remo began running those steps in his mind, the muscles in his legs and arms flexing and extending as if he were actually climbing them. He ran all the way to the top and back down three times, just to warm up. The next three sets he ran the steps two at a time. Then three at a time. When he reached four steps at a time he could feel the proteins in his muscles begin to break down. It had been decades since Remo experienced an actual "burn" while running, because Sinanju taught you not to tear your body down in order to build it up again, but simply to add to what you already had. He ran twelve more stair sets at four steps at a time before he felt his reserves of protein beginning to wane. Tonight they would have duck with their meal — that would let him rebuild his reserves. Remo relaxed, allowing his heart to slow down to its normal 40 beats per minute. It had been a good run. He moved through the first 52 stages of relaxation, allowing himself to reach the sleep stage 30 minutes before the time Chiun normally woke up every morning.

Another part of him, stubbornly, refused to stop thinking about Harry Potter and what Chiun planned to do with him. Remo tried to ignore that part of him. Whatever Chiun's plan was, he would find out about it eventually. Whether Remo would agree with it or not was another matter.

**=ooo=**

Harry was having a very strange dream.

Two men, a white one and a yellow one, had come into his bedroom at number four Privet Drive, telling him he must leave with them. Harry had protested, saying he had to go to Hogwarts that day, that he didn't have time to go with them.

But the men insisted, taking him by the hand and leading him downstairs past the Dursleys, who all waved sadly at seeing him leave. "We'll miss you, Harry!" Dudley had cried, and Harry told the men that it was a mistake — he didn't need to leave, the Dursleys didn't really want him to go! "Don't argue," the yellow man told him. "This is to fulfill the prophecy. It is for the greater good that you come with us." Harry tried to pull away, but the men would not let go of him. They put him into the back seat of the Dursley's car, getting in on either side of him, and a grinning Uncle Vernon had turned round from the front seat, asking where they wanted to go. "To Hogwarts!" Harry said, but the thin white man shook his head. "Take us to America," he ordered Vernon, who smiled cheerily and began driving. "What about my friends?" Harry asked, upset he would be leaving them behind. "You'll see them again," the yellow man said. "But not for many years from now." "No," Harry moaned, putting his face in his hands. "No, no, no…"

Harry opened his eyes, blinking as morning sunlight made him shield his eyes. He was in the hotel room that the old Oriental, Chiun, had put him in last night after supper. They were still in London.

Harry looked over at the dresser where he'd put Hedwig's birdcage last night. Chiun had removed the padlock from her cage and opened a window, allowing Hedwig to get out and find something to eat. The cage was still empty; Harry hoped she'd be able to get back to the hotel after she finished feeding.

Thinking of food, Harry realized he was hungry. When he'd lived on Privet Drive, he would sometimes sneak down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and nick a few things from the fridge. He was careful not to take enough that Aunt Petunia would notice, but there was often very little in the way of leftovers — between Dudley and his father there was usually barely enough left for Harry to have anything, no matter how much food his aunt made to feed them.

At Hogwarts, in contrast, there was always an abundance of food at meals, so much so that Harry had to remember not to overstuff himself; no one at the school was going to deny him meals just because his homework wasn't completely done or he hadn't finished all of his chores for the day.

Harry slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, taking off his pyjamas and getting into the shower. The warm water helped wake him up and he did a thorough job of cleaning up, even using the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner to wash his hair.

Out of the shower, he stared at himself in the mirror. His hair, still wet, was a bit less unruly than when it was dry. Harry ran a comb through it, from habit, but he could never make it lay properly on his head.

Getting dressed presented a problem of sorts. Harry stared into his trunk, finding a pair of shorts and socks that he hadn't worn yet, but there wasn't much else for him to wear that wasn't a Dudley castoff. They were all clean except for the shirt and pants he'd worn home from King's Cross yesterday; the clothes he wore at Hogwarts had always disappeared every night, only to wind up in his trunk the next morning, clean and fresh. Harry had attributed that to — well, to _magic_, of course. At least, that's what his dorm mates Dean and Seamus had told him. Ron had never questioned it, saying that his mum did the same thing for him. And Neville, their other dorm mate, rarely spoke to them without being spoken to first, so Harry had figured he didn't know how it worked, either.

He finally settled on a baggy pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt that would hang halfway to his knees if he didn't tuck it into his pants. At least the T-shirt helped keep his jeans from slipping off his hips. When he was finally dressed Harry sat down on the bed again, wondering _Now what should he do_?

What was going to happen now that he was with Remo and Chiun? Harry hadn't really thought this through very well, he realized. He'd gotten away from the Dursleys, but at least _there_ he knew what to expect. His aunt would have him doing chores around the house all day while Dudley went out with his gang — Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend, along with Gordon, Dennis, and Malcolm. In a way, it was good Petunia kept Harry busy around the house; it kept Dudley and his gang away from Harry, as "ickle Diddikins" wanted his parents to believe he and his friends didn't bully Harry. They did, of course, but that mostly happened at school, away from Privet Drive.

Harry waited for someone to come get him. He couldn't hear anything on the other side of the wall where Remo and Chiun's room was, but he'd noticed both men moved with unnatural quietness. Compared to them Harry's footsteps sounded like Hagrid stomping around. He hoped one of them would come for him soon — he was beginning to feel really hungry.

Harry wasn't sure how long he sat there before the door opened and Remo looked in on him. "Hey, kid. Chiun and I are going to get something to eat. You want to come with us?"

"Sure," Harry said, jumping off the bed and heading for the door. Remo opened it wide for him, but Harry stopped just short of the opening. "Uh, Mr. Remo?"

"Just call me Remo, kid," Remo told him. "What is it?"

"Are you… mad at me?"

Remo looked surprised and a little uncomfortable. "No, I'm not," he said. "Not really. I was just — well, surprised yesterday when Chiun said he was going to teach you Sinanju. That's not something that's ever happened before, not since I've been with him."

_Yeah, I kind of guessed that_, Harry thought to himself. Aloud, he said, "I guess this Sinanju is kind of a big deal, isn't it?"

Remo smiled thinly. "Yeah, kid, it is. I didn't think so at first when Chiun started training me, but I learned how to do some pretty amazing things."

Remo didn't seem as jealous as he'd been yesterday. Or maybe Harry had just thought that because Chiun said so. "Can you tell me what it is?" Harry asked, hoping someone would finally tell him what it was he'd be learning.

But — "I think I'll let Chiun do that, kid," Remo said. "Come on, let's go eat."

Chiun was waiting outside the door. "You look rested," he said to Harry. "How was your sleep?"

"Good, I guess," Harry said. Except for that dream, and he didn't say anything about it. "I am pretty hungry," he added, hoping the men would take the hint and they'd go to a buffet somewhere.

"Good," said Chiun. "A growing boy should eat well. That will be your first lesson for today, I think — a proper diet."

Remo chuckled.

"What?" Harry asked, looking up at him. Both Remo and Chiun seemed thin to his eyes, like they barely ate anything at all.

"Never mind, kid," Remo said, still chuckling. "Let's get you some food."

They passed through the lobby without a glance toward the restaurant section. Then they were out in the streets of London, in a section Harry had never been in before. It was very different from the street where the Leaky Cauldron was — there were lots of very expensive stores lining the sidewalk, and the few cars they saw on the street looked expensive as well. They walked on for several blocks, along less and less expensive businesses, passing several restaurants with a number of different kinds of food advertised: French, Italian, Greek, even American. Harry saw at least a couple of places that served hamburgers. The one he'd had last night had been delicious — he was hoping to order another one wherever they ate.

They had walked at least a dozen blocks before Chiun stopped in front of a small storefront restaurant with the words

**Sung's Korean**

on the glass window, and strange symbols printed below it in what looked like Chinese or Japanese characters. "Ah," the old Oriental said, slowly inhaling. "This is what I smelled last night as we entered the hotel, Remo. I knew I would find it."

"I smelled it too, Little Father," Remo said, smiling. "It does smell good."

Harry took a tentative sniff and grabbed his nose. He smelled something like rotting cabbage. "What are you smelling?" he asked, wondering they could smell that he couldn't.

"No MSG," Remo told him. "This place doesn't use it."

"Do you think they serve hamburgers in here?" Harry asked, still holding his nose.

"Hamburger?" Chiun looked outraged. "I would sooner have you eat duck droppings than poison your body with red meat again, Harry Potter! From now on, as I said, you will eat a proper diet."

Before Harry could protest a waiter came over and bowed to Chiun, then began speaking in a language Harry didn't recognize. Harry glanced at Remo, who seemed to be following along with what the waiter was saying. All Harry wanted to know was, how you said "hamburger" in whatever language the waiter was speaking.

Chiun fired off a very long and (to Harry) completely incomprehensible string of words, with many arm and hand gestures. The waiter's eyes grew wider and wider with surprise until Chiun stopped speaking. He then bowed low and hurried back into the kitchen.

"What did he say?" Harry asked Remo.

"Rice," Remo replied.

"Huh?" Harry said, bewildered. "All _that_ just meant 'rice?'"

"Of course not," Remo grinned. "He also ordered duck."

"Duck?" Harry wrinkled his nose. "Can't I have a hamburger?"

"You can," Chiun broke in before Remo could answer. "If you would rather die from clogged arteries and a fat-riddled body instead of letting the death demon kill you."

Harry stared at the old man in confusion. "But I eat meat all the time!"

"I know," Chiun said, disapprovingly. "I can smell it oozing from your pores even as we speak."

"Ewww." That was a disgusting thing to say, Harry thought. He lifted his arms and sniffed a couple of times, but all he could smell was soap.

"Sorry, kid," Remo said sympathetically. "I should have warned you last night to really enjoy that burger you ate — it's the last one you're ever gonna have."

"What?" Harry's mouth was open in shock. "But, but, what about treacle tarts —"

"Nope," Remo shook his head. "Can't have any of that, either. Whatever it is."

"It's not meat," Harry protested. "It's a dessert!"

"Doesn't matter," Remo shrugged. "With Sinanju, we eat to live, not live to eat." He looked at Chiun. "How does that sound when _I_ say it for a change?"

"Overly pedantic," Chiun retorted. "The goal is to extract the most nutrients we can from the food we eat. Ah, it is here!"

Waiters were returning with bowls of food. They set them down in the middle of the table: three small bowls of brown rice, another bowl containing chunks of boiled duck, and a final bowl with some kind of slimy green leaves in it that looked awful. The waiters bowed low and quickly retreated. "Well," Chiun gestured toward the food. "As you say, dig in."

"_We_ say 'tuck in.'" Harry stared at the bowls of food warily. "What _is_ all this?"

"Have you not been paying attention, child?" Chiun said, annoyed. One could only be patient with children for so long, even white ones. "This is food that is actually good for you — not the sugar-laden, fatty garbage that everyone eats in this backwards nation. His long fingernails pointed to the different bowls in front of them. "This is brown rice, steamed and unseasoned. This —" he pointed to the bowl of soggy green stuff "is boiled seaweed. This final bowl is boiled duck, which is infinitely better for you than the meat of cow or pig."

"We only eat duck three or four times a years," Remo added, helping Harry understand the kind of life he'd agreed to. "Otherwise it's mostly rice and fish. And seaweed."

"Great," Harry muttered. Maybe he _should_ have said something to Ron or Hermione at Kings Cross! The two men took their bowls of rice and put pieces of duck in small bowls provided with their meal. Harry shook his head, wondering what kind of meal Ron and his family was having right now…

**=ooo=**

"Ahhh, that was brilliant, Mum," Ron said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stomach contentedly, until Molly glanced at their houseguest with some embarrassment then glared at him across the table. "Sorry, Professor," he apologized, dropping his hands in his lap.

"It's quite all right, Ronald," Albus Dumbledore smiled gently, blue eyes twinkling with merriment. "I quite agree with you, your mother is an excellent cook."

"It's a happy coincidence, then," Fred spoke up, swallowing his last bite of dumpling. "Since she does all the cooking round here."

"Yes," George agreed, winking at his sister Ginny, who giggled. "That was quite a stroke of luck there, I'd say."

"All right, boys," Arthur Weasley said, hiding a smile at his sons' banter. "Settle down."

"Oh we _are_ settled, Dad," Fred told him. "It's not like we're going act up while the Headmaster of our school is breaking bread with us." He and George both smiled innocently, then Fred leaned toward George and muttered, "Pass the firecrackers."

"Fred!" Molly exploded, as Ginny and Ron sniggered. "Enough! The professor will think you two were born in a barn!"

"It's quite all right, Molly," Dumbledore chuckled. "It's been some time since I've had such an enjoyable, and delicious meal."

"Thank you, Professor," Molly beamed at the Headmaster. "Would you like anything else —?"

"No, my dear, I am quite full, thank you," the professor demurred. "Once again, I would like to thank you and Arthur for extending an invitation to join you, especially after I arrived unannounced just before your meal."

"It was our pleasure, Albus," Arthur Weasley smiled, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh. "And we always enjoy your visits, as infrequent as they are. Oh, I don't mean to sound critical," he added hastily. "It's just been some time since we —"

"Children, will you help me put the dishes in the sink," Molly said quickly, cutting her husband off before he began to ramble. While Molly put away the leftovers, Ginny gathered plates and silverware, handing them to Fred, who in turn handed them to George, who handed them to Ron, who put them in the sink.

With the table cleared off, Fred poked Ron in the arm. "How about a game of apple Quidditch? First to 50 points wins." Without real Quidditch balls to use, the Weasleys substituted apples for Quaffles, throwing them through the fork of a tree at either end of the orchard behind the Burrow.

"Spot me 30 points," Ron suggested, as they headed toward the back door. "You'll murder me otherwise."

"I can play!" Ginny jumped up, following them to the door.

"Not this year, little sister," George shook his head. "You're too young. Besides, first years can't play Quidditch anyway."

But Ginny wasn't giving up. "You said Harry Potter was on the team!" she protested. "He was in first year!"

Their voices became fainter as they headed for the broom shed just beyond the garden. "Harry was a special case, Ginny — he's a natural on a broom," Ron was saying. "You don't even _have_ a broom!"

"Do too!" she shouted. "It's Mum's old broom!" Their voices were muffled as everyone began rummaging around in the broom shed for their brooms. There was more shouting and arguing over whether Ginny would be allowed to play, and Arthur, shaking his head, stood up and was about to shout at them to quiet down and let her play when everything went silent. "I guess they worked it out," he said to Molly as he sat back down.

"She is a good flyer," Molly told him. "She can do things on a broom I never could at that age. And today —" she looked down at herself ruefully. "Well, I don't plan on using my broom again anytime soon, I can tell you _that_."

"Ah, Molly, you are too hard on yourself," Dumbledore said, complimentarily. "I'm sure you could still fly a broom better than I do these days."

"Very nice of you to say so, Albus," Molly smiled, flattered by the kind words. But a moment later her expression became shrewd. "Now, just what is it you're really here for, if I may ask so boldly?"

Arthur looked a bit scandalized by her bluntness, but Dumbledore merely smiled. "Still the pragmatist, I see! I do have something to discuss with you and Arthur." Dumbledore paused a long moment. "Perhaps it would be best if we discussed this in Arthur's study."

The two Weasleys exchanged glances. If Dumbledore wanted privacy this must be something important indeed. Arthur led the way through the living room and into the small den he had added as more and more of his work came home with him from the Ministry. It was furnished with a simple wooden desk; the drawers had been enchanted to hold quite a bit more than their outward dimensions would suggest. There was a creaky desk chair, which Arthur offered to Dumbledore, who declined, instead conjuring up with two of his own, plush chintzes, and offering one to Molly. Arthur sat down in his desk chair.

Before Dumbledore sat, however, he made several gestures around the room with his wand, speaking quietly in a very ancient language. After nearly a minute of this he sat down, putting away his wand and smoothing his beard so it rested easily in his lap.

"I apologize for exercising this amount of caution in your home, Molly and Arthur, but this is a matter of some delicacy. I would not wish for young ears to overhear this, even accidentally, for if this became general knowledge it could tip the advantage in favor of Voldemort's —" both of the Weasleys involuntarily winced as Dumbledore said the name "— Death Eaters, even if he is not among them now."

Molly's face had gone white. "Something's happened to Harry!" she guessed, wringing her hands fretfully at the mere idea. "That's it, isn't it Dumbledore?" she asked pleadingly, hoping she was wrong.

"Harry is fine," Dumbledore said, patting her hand gently. "I saw him resting peacefully just last night."

"So he's back with his aunt and uncle?" Arthur asked. "Molly told me that Dursley fellow was a bit short with her when they met on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters."

"He was actually quite rude," Molly muttered. "And not just to me, but to Harry as well — his own nephew! I asked Ron what he knew about the family but he said Harry never talked much about them."

Dumbledore was nodding slowly. "I did have an opportunity to speak with them yesterday evening. From that, and what Arabella has written to me over the years, I'm afraid Harry was treated with rather less family affection than I expected."

"What's happened?" Molly asked anxiously. "Albus, tell us!"

Dumbledore was silent for several moments, as if gathering his words carefully. "It appears," he said at last, "that Harry has accepted an offer to live with someone else."

"Someone else?" Molly was giving the old wizard a penetrating stare. "You mean some other family member found him?"

"Dear," Arthur broke in. "I don't think Harry had anyone other than his aunt and her husband. James' father was the last of the Potter line before James was born, and he was an only child. Both his father and mother died of illness not long before Harry was born," he finished, sadly.

"Then who was it?" Molly asked Dumbledore. "One of Lily's relatives? They were all Muggles, weren't they?" Her eyes suddenly grew wide. "Oh! But it couldn't be —" she turned to Arthur, fear in her eyes. "Sirius Black is Harry's godfather, isn't he? It's not _him_ —"

"No, Molly, of course not!" Dumbledore quickly reassured her. "Sirius is still in Azkaban. He has not returned to claim his godson.

"However," he went on, "I am afraid I do not know exactly what occurred last night at number four, Privet Drive, except that two men came to the house the previous evening claiming to be from the DCSF — that is a Muggle government agency that oversees the protection of children in Britain."

"What?" Molly's expression grew dark. "They weren't _abusing_ him, were they?"

"Not exactly," though Dumbledore's expression was troubled as he said this. "Though I fear, from all the indications they gave, they did not want him there. I believe Petunia took him in part because she was afraid I would somehow hold her accountable if she didn't, and in part because of some guilt she clung to due to hostile feelings toward Lily at the time of her death."

"Where's Harry now, Albus?" Arthur asked, concerned for the boy.

"He is in a hotel in London, in his own room adjacent to the room of the two men who took him," Dumbledore replied. "I visited them last night in order to bring him here, but the older gentleman, an elderly Korean named Chiun, convinced me to allow Harry to stay with him."

Molly and Arthur exchanged surprised glances. "Convinced you?" Arthur said, skeptically. "He must have been a very persuasive fellow to do that!"

"For a Muggle, he was quite impressive," Dumbledore agreed. "He was able to take my wand from me without my knowledge," he admitted. "And, he was able to make my feet move without my willing them to do so. It was quite fascinating, really…"

Arthur nodded interestedly. "What did he do? Was it some Muggle method of —"

"Hold on," Molly said loudly. Both men looked at her, eyebrows raised. "You didn't actually _leave_ him with those men, Albus?!" she demanded.

"I did," Dumbledore simply said.

One of Molly's eyes twitched. "What were you _thinking_, man?!" she shouted. Both Arthur and Dumbledore winced at the volume of her voice. "You know _nothing_ about these men! Of all the hare-brained things you've done —"

"Molly!" Arthur said sharply.

"— _this_ is the bloody worst! _We_ would have taken Harry in, Dumbledore! You knew that! I was about to have Ginny but we would have found a way to make it work!" Molly was beside herself with anger. "But NO! _You_ had to run off and hide him somewhere!"

"It was necessary —" Dumbledore began.

"_I _KNOW_ you thought it was necessary_!" Molly screamed. "But you might have at least TOLD US WHERE HE WAS SO WE WOULDN'T WORRY ABOUT HIM!" She had gotten to her feet and was standing over Dumbledore, shouting down at him. The old wizard, for his part, merely looked up at her meekly as she ranted at him. Arthur had stood as well and had put his hands on her arms, hoping she wouldn't start hitting the Headmaster.

"Molly — Molly, sit down," Arthur urged her. "There's a good girl," he said, relieved, when she sat back in her chair. "Albus, I'm so sorry —"

"It is quite all right," the old wizard said, mildly. "My decision to keep Harry out of the limelight was not a popular one with the few who knew, I must admit. "But it also served the dual purpose of protecting Harry, as I've explained to you before. His aunt's blood enhances the bond of sacrifice in Harry's blood, protecting him from Voldemort's followers, especially those who wear his Dark Mark."

"Yes, I know," Molly looked away from Albus. "I'm sorry," she murmured, patting Arthur's hand, still on her arm. "I just — I want to know Harry is safe," she told them. "We waited so long for him to return, and now I don't know what's going to happen." She looked entreatingly at Dumbledore. "Do you?"

"I cannot make any guarantees," Dumbledore spoke honestly. "But I do not plan to simply wait for this Chiun to decide whether or not he will help Harry."

"Why does he even want to help Harry?" Arthur asked, curious. "How would he know that You-Know-Who even _existed_, much less that he wanted to kill Harry?"

"I do not believe he knew about Voldemort at first," Dumbledore speculated. "But one of the things Petunia told me when I questioned her and her husband about the men was that the old man had been present in Godric's Hollow when James and Lily were killed by Voldemort."

"What? How?" both Arthur and Molly cried, stunned at that news.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I did not get all of the details — Petunia remembered only bits and snatches of the conversation, but she recalled that the Muggle Queen, Elizabeth, asked the old Korean to get rid of Voldemort."

Arthur and Molly just stared at him, dumbfounded. Before either of them could find their voice to ask a question, Dumbledore spoke again.

"I was quite surprised as well. Not so much that the Muggle Queen knew of our plight — every Muggle Prime Minister is told of the existence of his wizarding constituency. But it does seem fantastic to think a Muggle, even one who was able to take my wand from me without my knowledge, would be able to rid the world of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "I should perhaps question Petunia more closely, or urge her to give her memory to me so I can inspect it more fully."

"What do you need from us, Albus?" Molly asked, weary of the twists and turns their conversation was taking. "How can we help?"

Dumbledore's expression became serious, the twinkle in his deep blue eyes disappearing as he looked at both Molly and Arthur. "This Chiun who took Harry from the Dursleys asked me to recommend a tutor for Harry, so he could continue to learn magic over the coming year. Knowing this, I surmise that he may take Harry out of Britain, perhaps forever."

"Oh no!" Molly said, looking at Arthur in dismay at that revelation. Then she reconsidered. "But — won't he be safer that way, Albus?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, vaguely. "But Harry's absence from Britain could cause problems if Voldemort's followers realize he is gone. Harry is a symbol of our fight against him and his Death Eaters; they may become bolder if they feel they have an advantage in our struggle against them."

"You mean that trouble with Professor Quirrell?" Arthur asked. Dumbledore nodded. "Kingsley told me there are speculations that Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort, somehow, even though he was supposed to be dead."

"I have heard the same rumors," Dumbledore said, gravely. "They are, unfortunately, true."

Molly gasped. "So he _is_ alive, then?"

"Yes, as a disembodied spirit," Dumbledore said. "But now we know he is capable of possessing others, perhaps even against their will. With Harry gone from Britain, I am afraid he will become emboldened and seek to sow discord within our ranks, perhaps within the Ministry itself."

"We should talk to the Minister about this," Arthur suggested. "Perhaps there are measures we can take to protect ourselves from being possessed."

"Alas," Dumbledore shook his head. "I fear poor Cornelius would not react well to the idea that Voldemort has returned, seemingly from the dead, Arthur. As it is, I receive an owl from him nearly every week even now, requesting advice on various affairs of state."

Arthur leaned back in his chair, looking helpless. "What do we do, then?"

"I've made arrangements to have a qualified wizard contact Master Chiun about tutoring Harry in magical subjects," Dumbledore replied. "He will travel with them, keeping me updated from time to time of their location and how Harry is doing with the training Chiun says he receive."

"Who is this wizard?" Arthur inquired. "Is he one of the Order —?"

"For now, Arthur, I desire that you know as little as possible about that arrangement, for Harry's and your own safety," Dumbledore interrupted him. "However, as Molly has so wisely surmised, I do have an assignment for you — one that will be much more involved and, perhaps, even more difficult."

"Really?" Arthur looked quite interested, not noticing the look of consternation on Molly's face. "What is it?"

"As I said," Dumbledore explained, "I do not wish it to become known that Harry will no longer be in Britain for the coming year. To that end, I have secured a supply of his hair and have begun brewing a sizable quantity of Polyjuice Potion."

Molly shook her head in disbelief. "You're _joking_, Dumbledore! Are you asking Arthur to impersonate _Harry Potter_?"

Dumbledore's expression was quite serious. "I would of course provide a cover story for Arthur with Cornelius, requesting leave for him for a special assignment out of country doing specialized research on Muggles for me. His current duties in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office makes him an ideal choice for such an assignment. I would also provide ample compensation for his and your trouble, doubling the salary he receives from the Ministry."

"That's quite generous, Albus," Arthur said, beaming. "To tell the truth, I might have done it for nothing!"

Molly was looking at her husband doubtfully. "I don't know, Arthur… It's been a long time since you were a twelve-year old boy. And what kind of strain would taking that much Polyjuice put on your body?" She looked at Dumbledore. "He would have to take it for the whole school year, wouldn't he?"

"Do not fret, Molly," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "The potion I am brewing will last six hours per dose instead of one, and I will provide private quarters for him so that he can spend some time as himself, if he wishes."

"This seems like an awful bother," Molly maintained. She looked at the expression on Arthur's face. "What are _you_ smiling about now?"

"Molly, dear," Arthur put a hand on her arm. "I'm not completely clueless, you know — I hear what Fred, George and Ron think about my job, that I could probably sleepwalk through it. This assignment would give me the opportunity to do something _interesting_ for a change, something useful —"

"I think you mean _dangerous_," Molly snapped. "What if you end up stuck as Harry Potter?"

"That's very unlikely to happen, dear." Arthur glanced at Dumbledore. "It _is_ unlikely, isn't it, Albus?"

"My potion-making may not be up to Professor Snape's standards," Dumbledore smiled. "But nothing like that can happen, Molly. If anything, Arthur may develop a resistance to the potion over time, causing it to wear off sooner and sooner. He will never become 'stuck' as Harry, as you put it."

Molly sighed. "I'm sure you've already made up your mind," she said resignedly. "I just hope you can manage to fool his friends at school, Arthur, considering how little you know about Harry."

"Arthur will manage," Dumbledore said confidently. "I will apprise him of everything I know about young Harry — a not inconsiderable amount of information, considering I have seen him nearly every day for the past year."

"I hope I can remember it all," Arthur said, though there was an excitement in his voice. To think he would have the chance to walk the halls of Hogwarts again as a young man!

Dumbledore stood and the chair he had been sitting on disappeared. "Then I shall take my leave of you for now," he said, inclining his head toward his hosts. "Arthur, you will hear from Cornelius when you are to contact me about your assignment; I will attempt to have you go on leave in early August, about the time Minerva sends out the letters from Hogwarts to returning students. At that time 'Harry' can come to the Burrow to live for a month before school begins in September. That will give you time interact with your school mates."

"_And_ your children," Molly added. "That will be a bit of a change, won't it?"

Arthur smiled ruefully. "It will, I've been so busy at work for the past months. Being around them again will be good, even if I have to pretend to be someone I'm not."

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "And both of you, please remember, not a word of this to _anyone_."

"Of course not, Albus," Arthur agreed, and Molly nodded. The old wizard took out his wand and with a flick, canceled the protection spells on the room. He and Arthur walked through the house and out the back door, then to the gate at the back of the garden, where Dumbledore paused for a moment, listening to the sounds of Fred, George, Ron and Ginny playing their Quidditch match in the orchard. Before he left, he turned to Arthur, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"I will tell you a secret, Arthur," he said, confidentially. "I almost envy the assignment I've given you."

Arthur grinned. "I look forward to it, sir. It will be quite interesting, I'm sure."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sure," he agreed. "And perhaps, in a year's time, the situation will have resolved itself and our young friend will decide to return to Hogwarts on his own. We shall see…" With a nod, Dumbledore disappeared.

Arthur continued listening to the Quidditch game in the orchard. He had just realized — Ron said Harry was on the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts. Arthur had never played Quidditch, but he would be expected to be on the team again, most likely. He smiled ruefully; pretending to be Harry Potter for a year could be a lot harder than he expected! Arthur wondered what Harry was doing at that moment, wherever he was. He hoped that, whatever happened, Harry would be better off than he'd been before. After a while he turned and went back into the Burrow, to begin planning how to move into his role as "Harry Potter."

**=ooo=**

"More," Chiun said.

Harry continued to chew the piece of boiled duck in his mouth. It had long since lost whatever taste it had — it felt like he was chewing parchment. Chiun had insisted he eat his food this way, the Sinanju way, which was to thoroughly chew each bite of food until it was nearly liquid before swallowing it. It seemed like he'd been chewing on this one piece of duck for minutes now.

Opposite him, Remo was watching Harry as he took another clump of brown rice with his chopsticks. Remo had eaten three or four times, while Harry was still working on his first mouthful. Remo wasn't frowning at him as much as he had last night; whatever jealousy he'd had seemed to have evaporated, replaced with amusement as Harry struggled to eat the tasteless food they'd given him.

Harry finally stopped chewing, hoping that he could swallow his first bite of food for the meal. He was almost over being hungry! He looked at Chiun.

"More," Chiun said again.

Harry sighed around his food. This wasn't what he'd left the Dursleys for! At least whatever little food they given him he was allowed to eat! He resumed chewing. After what seemed like another minute of chewing, "Now swallow," Chiun said. "But _slowly_," he admonished, gesturing with long fingers toward his own neck, slowly sliding them down from his chin to his chest. "Savor the taste as you swallow."

"It tastes like I'm swallowing my own spit," Harry complained after the liquefied duck had gone down.

"Good," Chiun nodded. "That is exactly how it should feel. You whites know nothing about properly digesting your food. Remo was especially stubborn in learning to eat properly."

"Don't make this about me, Chiun," Remo said, taking a small piece of duck from his bowl. "You're teaching the kid how to eat, not me. I already learned."

"Despite constantly filling yourself with garbage," Chiun griped. "I have no hope you will be a proper example for the boy, what with your hamburgers and other American poisons."

"I haven't eaten a hamburger in decades," Remo declared, taking some boiled seaweed. "You're just ragging on me now."

Harry looked away as Remo put the seaweed into his mouth. It looked disgusting. Only one bite of food and already he didn't feel hungry anymore! He drank sparingly from the glass of tepid water next to his plate, wishing for pumpkin juice or milk.

Chiun noticed he wasn't eating. "You need to keep up your strength, Harry," he said, pointing to his plate. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry anymore."

"Good. Continue eating."

"But —"

"One does not eat because one _wants_ to eat," Chiun told him. "One eats to replenish the body. After we return to the hotel we will begin breathing exercises."

"Breathing exercises?" What could _that_ be about, Harry wondered. "I know how to breathe," he said, stubbornly.

"You may _think_ you do," Chiun cautioned him. "But most whites breathe so poorly it is a wonder they continue to live. After you learn proper breathing we will begin your Sinanju training."

"How long is that going to take?" Harry asked, trying to hold his chopsticks the way he'd been shown. He could hardly pick up more than a few kernels of rice at a time.

"If you are barely adequate," Chiun pondered, "as Remo was —" Remo snorted — "it should take you no more than perhaps twenty to thirty years to match his current dismal level of performance."

Harry almost spit out the bits of half-chewed rice in his mouth. "Twenty or thirty _years_?!" he gasped, staring at Chiun in horror. "I can finish Hogwarts in only seven!"

"But that school will only teach you how to perform your magic tricks, yes?" Chiun argued. "Sinanju will teach you how to live for the rest of your life. That is why it is the most precious gift one can be given in this world!"

Harry had looked around as Chiun spoke, wondering if anyone heard the old Oriental mention magic. But none of the waiters were around; in fact, no one had even been seated near them, though the restaurant looked about half-full of people.

"Maybe," he said, lowering his voice despite no one being around.

"_Maybe_?" Chiun looked astonished by Harry's skepticism. He took a salt shaker from the center of the table, holding it so Harry could see. "Do you think you could catch this if I tossed it to you?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Of course." He'd been catching Snitches in flight during Quidditch matches — a salt shaker wouldn't be hard.

"Even if I threw it rather fast?" Chiun asked.

"Probably," Harry shrugged. "Maybe not this close, though."

"How close? Move back until you feel you could catch it if I threw it toward you."

Harry looked behind him, then got up and stood behind his chair. He took a step back. Then another step back. There was now about 10 feet between him and Chiun. "Okay," he said, holding up his hands, ready to catch the shaker if Chiun threw it at him.

"Remo," Chiun addressed his first apprentice. "Be prepared."

Remo nodded slightly, understanding what Chiun intended.

Harry wasn't sure what Remo needed to prepare for, but he was watching the old man's hand holding the shaker. Suddenly, though the hand didn't move, the shaker was suddenly flying towards Harry's eyes, faster than even the swiftest Snitch he'd ever caught.

In that split-moment Harry realized he could not move his arms fast enough to catch the shaker. It was going to hit him between the eyes. Even as he started to flinch, however, a hand was suddenly in front of his face, stopping the shaker an inch from the bridge of his nose. Remo had somehow sprang from his chair and caught the shaker out of thin air. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, jerking back as he realized how close it had come.

"If that had hit you, kid," Remo said softly. "You'd be dead." He tossed the shaker back gently toward the table; it landed exactly where Chiun had taken it from the condiment holder in the middle of the table.

"Perhaps you are unconvinced," Chiun said to Harry. Harry didn't reply. "Remo," he said, then repeated the demonstration with other items on the table: chopsticks, small flat plates beneath the bowls, a bottle of seasoning at the center of the table. Each time Remo caught the object just before it struck him, holding it there just long enough for Harry to see he'd gotten it, then tossing it back. Each time the item landed exactly where Chiun had picked it up.

Chiun finished the demonstration with his glass of water, propelling it toward Remo at a speed only slightly slower than a .22 bullet. The edge of the glass was toward him, keeping the water from spilling. If Remo did not catch the glass it would shatter against his eye socket, driving shards of glass and water into his brain.

Remo's hand moved of its own accord, catching the glass with his thumb and index finger, using his wrist and forearm to alter the momentum of the glass so not a drop of water spilled as he brought the glass to a halt an inch from his eye, the glass now upright and the water only slightly agitated. He placed the glass back on the table and slid it back toward Chiun, moving across the plastic table covering without tipping or spilling.

Harry was impressed. Those things had moved _fast_, faster than he could follow in most cases. But still — "Is that what Sinanju is going to teach me?" he asked, impudently. "How to have a food fight?"

"It will teach you how to defend yourself as well as attack," Chiun said. "You must be prepared for the demon, no matter when or where he attacks you. When trouble comes, it comes at its own time, never at yours."

At that moment a large bird suddenly flew in through an open window, startling several customers. The bird swooped across the room, landing on the table occupied by Harry, Chiun and Remo. Several waiters began to hurry toward the table, waving towels to shoo the bird away, but Chiun held out a hand, stopping them with a word in Korean.

"If I am not mistaken," Chiun said to Harry, "this bird carries a message for you."

Harry looked. There was a small roll of parchment tied to its leg. The owl hooted softly and offered it to Harry. Harry carefully untied the roll of parchment from the bird's leg. The owl hooted again, took a piece of duck from Harry's bowl, then flew away as the waiters ducked, then began speaking rapidly among themselves in Korean, pointing at the window the owl flew in and out of.

"What does the note say?" Chiun asked Harry.

"What are _they_ saying?" Harry asked, nodding at the waiters.

"It is not important," Chiun said dismissively. When Harry made no move to read the roll of parchment, Chiun added, "They say you are Owl-Boy, the boy who can talk to owls."

"Well, I can, sort of," Harry said. "I can talk to my owl, Hedwig, and she understands me." The waiters began pointing at Harry as they spoke. "_Now_ what?" he said crossly, not enjoying the attention.

"Speaking to owls is not considered a good thing," Chiun told him. "They believe an owl is the soul of someone who was murdered." He shrugged indifferently. "As I said, it is not important."

"They were saying something else," Remo added. "They said Harry has to eat the last bite of food at our meal, that it's bad luck for him not to. What's that about?"

"It is a superstition among the Koreans of the south," Chiun answered. "They believe a child has to eat the last bite of food at a meal or he will die."

"Is that so? Is that why you always stop eating before I do at meals, Little Father?" Remo asked, gently.

Chiun gave him a look. "I do not stop eating before you do, Remo. You are simply greedy and wish to stuff your white body with as much food as possible." Remo chuckled.

"What does the note say, Harry?" Chiun asked, ignoring Remo's laugh.

Harry unrolled the parchment and read it, just loud enough for Remo and Chiun to hear:

_To Harry Potter,  
__I was given your name by Professor Dumbledore, to contact you in regard to tutoring you in magic. When it's convenient for you to meet just tap this note three times with your wand, and I will find you. I look forward to meeting with you.  
__Remus Lupin_

Harry stared at the signature for several seconds. The name was oddly familiar to him, though he didn't know where he'd heard it before. The name was similar to Remo, the man with Chiun, but that wasn't it. He looked at Chiun. "Should we go back to the hotel and talk to him?"

"What do you think, Remo?" Chiun asked.

"Why not right now?" Remo suggested. "It might be better to meet in a public place than in some hotel room."

"I'm not afraid," Harry said immediately.

"Of course you are not," Chiun answered serenely. "You are in no danger as long as you are with us."

"I meant — never mind," Harry dropped it. "Do you want me to do it now?" Both Chiun and Remo nodded. "Okay," Harry surreptitiously pulled out his wand, keeping it hidden so the waiters couldn't see, and tapped the parchment three times with the tip of his wand. The note disappeared from his hand. Harry slid his wand back into his pocket.

Chiun suddenly looked toward the door. "Do you feel that, Remo?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Remo muttered. "Someone moving into our pattern. But it feels strange, different somehow."

"It is how the Stick Wigglers travel magically," Chiun said. They can disappear from one place and appear many miles away in mere seconds."

Moments later a man walked into the restaurant, coming toward their table. "Hello. You must be Harry," he said as he approached, extending a hand toward him. "I'm Remus Lupin. Professor Dumbledore told me you were looking for a tutor." After a moment Harry reached out and shook hands. The man was thin and pale, Harry saw, and he looked older than Remo, with age lines in his face and his light brown hair showing a bit of gray. There were also some scars on his face, Harry noticed, wondering how he'd gotten them. His clothes looked old and faded, with wrinkles and tears in a few places. He didn't look like a tutor at all — more like someone who spent nights sleeping on park benches.

"Hello, sir," Harry said, timidly. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Lupin said. But first he turned to Chiun, extending his hand once again. "Remus Lupin, sir. You must be Chiun, the Master of Sinanju. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

Chiun nodded but did not take Lupin's hand. After a moment Remo leaned forward and shook it. "Remo," he said, by way of introduction. "I'm the other Master of Sinanju. Have a seat."

Remus nodded and sat down opposite Chiun, who was examining him carefully. "Master Chiun," he said respectfully. "I understand you are looking for a tutor for young Harry, here."

"Indeed," Chiun said. "But before we discuss that, would you care for something to eat?"

"I'm fine," Remus waved off the invitation. "I —"

"You are _not_ 'fine,'" Chiun interrupted, unexpectedly. "It has been some time since you have eaten properly."

Remus looked at the old man, nonplussed. "Sir," he said at last, "I think I would know whether I have eaten or not."

"Apparently that is not true," Chiun disagreed. He clapped his hands twice. Within moments a waiter appeared at his side. Chiun spoke rapidly in Korean. The waiter nodded and hurried off.

"What did you tell him?" Harry asked as the waiter left.

"I told him to bring food for our guest," Chiun said, staring into Lupin's eyes. "You will eat," he said directly to Lupin, then gestured at Remo. "My student will be happy to pay for your meal."

Lupin glanced at Remo, whose expression remained unreadable, then at Harry, who was looking at him with concern. He turned to Chiun. "Thank you," he said, inclining his head with respect. Chiun returned this with the barest nod.

"While we wait for your repast," Chiun said. "Please describe your qualifications as a teacher."

"Ah, yes," Lupin said. "Just a moment, please." He took out his wand and made several small gestures in the air over the table, then put it away. "Sorry," he said apologetically. "I wanted to make sure our conversation isn't overheard. No one not sitting at this table will hear what we say now."

Harry looked around the room. People had been staring when Mr. Lupin began waving his wand, but now no one seemed to be paying attention to them at all. "What did you do?" he asked the wizard.

"Just a Quietening Charm," Lupin explained, "Along with a Muggle-Repelling Charm to keep the Muggles at bay. Er, present company excepted," he added to Chiun and Remo. He smiled slightly. "_And_ the waiter who's bringing my food, of course."

"Do you feel the difference, Remo?" Chiun asked.

"Yeah," Remo nodded. "It's strange, like everything around us suddenly … died, somehow."

"You can still sense the vibrations if you try," Chiun said. "They are still there, but quite dampened."

Remo was still a moment. "Yeah," he said again. "I feel them. Just barely, though."

Lupin was giving them an odd look. "I don't understand," he said. "What vibrations are you talking about?"

"Everything," Chiun said. "Everything has vibrations. You cannot escape them; wherever you go you can sense them in things both living and non-living. However, you were about to discuss your qualifications as a teacher, o wizard."

"Yes, of course." Lupin cleared his throat. "I attended Hogwarts from September, 1971 to June, 1979. While there I received 12 O.W.L.s —"

"Which means what, exactly?" Remo asked, interrupting him.

"O.W.L.s are Ordinary Wizarding Levels," Lupin explained. "They determine the level of qualification a wizard has in each subject."

"What subjects are taught at this magical school?" Chiun inquired.

"Well, let's see," Lupin said. "In order, they are: Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Care of Magical Animals, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Divination, Herbology, History of Magic, Muggle Studies, Potions and Transfiguration."

"And what are your qualifications in those subjects?" Chiun further inquired.

"I received an Outstanding O.W.L. in all subjects except for Care of Magical Animals, Divination and History of Magic," Lupin replied. "In those subjects I received an Exceeds Expectations."

Harry, who hadn't heard of some of those subjects before today, was impressed with Lupin's ability. Considering how difficult some of those subjects, such as Charms or Transfiguration, had been during his first year, getting an Outstanding in them must have been quite an effort!

Chiun, however, apparently did not think the same way. "Is that all of your qualifications?" he asked, sounding unimpressed.

"Oh, no," Lupin smiled. "I also went on to get N.E.W.T.s in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions and Transfiguration, earning an 'O' in each one. N.E.W.T.s are the advanced qualification for the subjects I named. The Ministry of Magic certifies that anyone with an Exceeds or better N.E.W.T. in a subject is fully qualified to teach it upon passing a teaching examination."

"Where have you taught these subjects?" Remo asked.

"Well —" Lupin rubbed his temple absently, looking embarrassed. "Nowhere, actually."

"Why not?" Chiun asked. "Does no one wish to hire you because of your affliction?"

Lupin looked at the old man warily. "My — affliction? What do you mean?"

At that moment the waiter returned with a tray covered with food. Harry watched longingly as the waiter sat bowls of noodles, vegetables, and meats in front of Lupin. The waiter left and Chiun gestured for Lupin to begin eating. Lupin smiled gratefully and tucked into his meal.

Chiun turned to Remo and began speaking softly with him in Korean. Harry thought that was rude, but the old man had given Lupin food when he was obviously hungry; the man was sampling bits of food from every bowl and plate before him. "Er — Mr. Lupin?"

Lupin looked over at him. "Yes, Harry?" he said, a gentle smile on his lips.

"Do you —" Harry stopped, frowning. "Never mind, it was a stupid question."

"It's a common saying among teachers that there are no stupid questions," Remus told him. "Never be afraid to ask questions, Harry."

"Well…" Harry looked into the man's face. "It seems like I — that I know you, somehow… but I don't think I've ever met you before."

Lupin put down his chopsticks and leaned closer to Harry. "Well, the last time I saw you, Harry, you were only a little over a year old," he said, surprisingly.

Harry sat back in his chair, stunned. "You knew my parents, then?"

"Yes, I knew James and Lily," Lupin nodded. "I went to school with them. We were in the same year. We were all in Gryffindor together."

"I'm in Gryffindor, too!" Harry said, excitedly.

"I'm not surprised," Lupin told him. "You look just like your father did at your age, except for your eyes. They're just like Lily's."

Harry nodded. Hagrid and several of the Hogwarts teachers had told him that already. Emboldened by Lupin's advice on asking questions, he said, "Mr. Lupin, can — can you tell me what really happened the night my parents were killed?"

The man's pale complexion went even whiter. "Hasn't anyone told you yet?"

"Yes, but everything seems jumbled up," Harry said, starting to get upset now that he thought about how little he really knew. "Why was Voldemort trying to kill me?"

"Didn't Dumbledore tell you?" Lupin asked, looking closely at Harry.

"He said —" Harry swallowed, not wanting to say — "He said I was too young to know right now."

"Hmph," Lupin shook his head. "Dumbledore is a great man, Harry, but he tends to be overprotective. Harry, do you plan to go back to Hogwarts this September?"

"Well —" Harry glanced at Chiun and Remo, who were still murmuring in Korean to one another. "If you're going to be my tutor, and I'm going to learn Sinanju like Mr. Chiun wants to teach me, I probably won't."

"All right, then." Remus leaned even closer. "There is a prophecy about you and Voldemort —"

"Yes, that's what Mr. Chiun told me when he came to my aunt and uncle's house. He said I was going to fight a demon named — er, Tarak-something."

"No." Lupin shook his head. "This prophecy was made by a witch before you were born. I don't know what the prophecy says specifically, but it predicts that a child born to a couple who defied the Dark Lord three times, a child born as the seventh month dies, would have power the Dark Lord knows not, and that only one of them would survive.

"Voldemort learned of that prophecy, somehow, and there were only two children in Britain born at the end of July — you and Neville Longbottom. James and Lily went into hiding using a very complex spell, the Fidelius Charm, to keep their location secret, but they were betrayed and killed."

"But —" Harry's hand went unconsciously to his forehead, touching his scar. "But why couldn't he kill me? Professor Dumbledore said it was my mum's love that saved me, but he said Voldemort killed _her_ before he tried to kill me."

Lupin was looking intently into Harry's green eyes. "I know your mother loved you very much, Harry," he said, in a voice pitched only for Harry's ears. "And she was an extraordinary witch — she and I worked together a number of times on research projects in Charms, Transfiguration and Ancient Runes. She was also interested in old, ancient magic, and I believe that was how she learned about blood spells and rituals."

Harry remembered what Dumbledore had told him. "The Headmaster said the reason Professor Quirrell, sharing his soul with Voldemort, couldn't touch me because my mother's love was in my skin."

Lupin smiled thinly. "He probably thought you were too young to understand the real reason, Harry. Your mother may have invoked a very ancient blood protection spell when Lord Voldemort came to claim your life. It does not take long to prepare, and I was told you were found in your bedroom with her body, unharmed despite your house being half-destroyed. If your mother cast that spell on you and herself before Voldemort killed her, her death evoked a powerful protective magic, one that not even the Killing Curse could penetrate. Not completely." Lupin's hand went out to Harry's forehead, and he lifted up Harry's bangs to look at his lightning-shaped scar. "Does it ever hurt, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Sometimes, whenever Professor Quirrell looked away from me. That's where Voldemort was — on the back of his head. My scar would begin to hurt. It felt like a blinding headache."

"Hmmm." Lupin looked worried. "That's not normal for scars, even those as unusual as that one is. We might have to do a bit of poking about in there, see what's going on."

"Mr. Lupin."

Lupin and Harry both turned. Remo and Chiun had stopped talking and were staring at them. "My apprentice and I have come to a decision about hiring you," Chiun said. "We believe you will be adequate to tutor Harry in your methods of magical education."

Harry beamed, and Lupin nodded gratefully. "Thank you very much," he said humbly.

"I do have one request, however," Chiun continued. "In the interest of complete disclosure, I wish for you to tell Harry about your affliction."

"He said he didn't know what you meant," Harry spoke up. "I think Mr. Lupin just needed a good feeding up. It worked for me while I was at Hogwarts!"

"No, Harry," Lupin turned to him, a haunted look in his eyes. "Master Chiun is correct. I do have an affliction of sorts, one that's been with me since I was a small boy. My father once insulted a man named Fenrir Greyback, and he took his revenge out on me, by biting me."

"I — I don't understand," Harry said, confused. "Biting you?"

"Greyback was a werewolf, Harry," Lupin continued, haltingly. "He wanted my parents to suffer for a long time, and infecting me was his way of doing just that. Now during the full moon every month, I must lock myself away from everyone, lest I hurt or kill someone. I'm a werewolf."

Harry's mouth dropped open. Somehow, it had never occurred to him that, along with witches and wizards, centaurs and unicorns, and even a teacher that could turn into a cat, that werewolves might be real, too. Werewolves were in old movies on the late-night telly that Dudley bullied his parents into staying up and watching, even on school nights. "_Really_?" he gasped, thoughtlessly.

"I wouldn't lie about something like that, Harry," Lupin said, a smile passing over his lips. "The last full moon was just a few nights ago; I was recovering when I received Dumbledore's owl suggesting I get in touch with you about a tutoring job." He dropped his eyes for a moment. "I — I wasn't sure I would come here, even after I received your confirmation requesting an interview. I knew I would have to tell you about my — my problem. But Master Chiun seemed to already know." He looked at the Master of Sinanju. "Did Dumbledore tell you?" he asked.

"The Headmaster of Harry's school said nothing," Chiun replied. "I knew of your affliction the moment I saw you. Your movements are much like the wolf's, Remus Lupin, but I sense within you the same nobility of that animal's spirit. You will make an excellent tutor for Harry."

"For _most_ of the month," Remus said, wryly. "There are a few days you will have to lock me away at night, however."

"Come, then." Chiun stood, gesturing toward the door. "Let us return to the hotel where my writing supplies are, and write out a contract of employment for your services."

"That would be … quite nice, actually," Remus said, standing as well. Remo took out his wallet, pulled out a 50-pound note and dropped it on the table, more than enough to pay for the meals and a generous tip. The four of them walked to the door and out, with Remus lingering in the door a moment to flick his wand at the table, removing the spells he'd cast earlier.

Harry waited for Remus to catch up to them, then fell in step beside him. "I'm glad you came to the interview, Mr. Lupin," he said, sincerely. "You're the first person I've met that was in school with my mum. I have a lot of questions for you."

"I'll answer anything I can, Harry," Remus said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "And you can call me Remus from now on. I'm glad Professor Dumbledore let me know you were looking for a tutor." Harry beamed happily at him as they walked on behind Remo and Chiun.

Silently, however, Remus almost regretted taking this job. It meant he could no longer hide up in his cottage in Yorkshire — he would have to go wherever Harry went, and that seemed to be governed by Master Chiun, or perhaps the mysterious Remo, though the apprentice was rarely the decision-maker in such arrangements.

And then there was Dumbledore. He had recommended Lupin for this position because of his loyalty to the headmaster, a man who had taken a tremendous chance in allowing him to attend Hogwarts at a time when being revealed as a werewolf would have meant a death sentence for him; he would have been hunted down and destroyed like a rabid dog if the Wizarding community had known of his condition. That had almost happened, in fact, when Snape had snuck into the Shrieking Shack, trying to discover his secret. James had followed the Slytherin, dragging him away before a transformed Remus realized he was there, and had sworn Snape to secrecy. Snape had agreed, grudgingly, because James had saved his life; if Remus had found him Snape would have been killed and very likely ended up a snack.

But Dumbledore had made it possible for him, not only to attend Hogwarts, but to become one its most gifted students. He, James, Peter and — and … well, _they_ had done something unique in the history of Hogwarts: they had mapped the Unplottable Hogwarts grounds, in a map that bore their nicknames and the name of their group: The Marauders. Old Filch had taken it from James one night, not knowing what the blank piece of parchment did but being an old toerag about it anyway, but it was still somewhere inside Hogwarts, of that Lupin was certain. Outside the grounds it was only as useful as, well, a blank piece of parchment.

Now, however, Prongs was dead, Wormtail was dead and Padfoot — well, he was where he belonged, rotting in Azkaban. That left only Moony, the last Marauder, who was almost afraid of his own shadow these days. _No more of that_! Remus decided firmly. From now on he would go out into the world instead of hiding from it. Fate had an interesting way of working things out, he realized. The son of his best friend may have just saved his life.

Remus patted Harry on the shoulder as they entered the hotel where Harry and his new friends were staying. Harry smiled up at him, happy to have another new friend, someone tied to his past. He could hardly wait to owl Ron and Hermione and tell them what had happened and how he was away from the Dursleys forever now. It would mean he wouldn't be going back to Hogwarts but that shouldn't keep the three of them from still being friends. Hermione didn't have an owl, but she could use the Weasley family used, an old Great Grey owl named Errol. Now, at last, he could _enjoy_ living away from the Dursleys once more, even if he did starve to death because of Chiun's weird rules about food…

**=ooo=**

**Author's Note: If anyone has any suggestions about how I can let more people on FF know about this fan fic, please PM me or mention it in a review. Plus your thoughts and comments on this chapter will be much appreciated.**


	3. Let Him Breathe

.

**Chapter Three**

**Let Him Breathe**

_First updated 7/18/2014 _

**=ooo=**

"Remus!" Molly smiled at the man standing outside her kitchen door. The Burrow's wards had alerted her that someone was approaching. "I can't remember the last time you visited! How have you been?" she asked, opening the door for him. "Come in, come in!"

"I'm well, Molly, thank you," Remus nodded. He stepped inside, inhaling deeply and savoring the aroma of Molly Weasley's cooking. "That smells wonderful," he told her.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Molly asked, in an inviting tone. Remus had always looked too thin to her.

"No, thank you," Remus said, though without much conviction. "I'm sorry to come round so early, but I wanted to discuss something with Arthur before he left for the Ministry."

"He should be down in a bit," Molly said. "Are you sure you wouldn't like something, Remus?" She was already beginning to fix him a plate — evidently she wasn't going to take "no" for an answer, Remus saw.

There wasn't anything else for it — he might as well give in. "Well, I can eat a bit," he admitted, and sat down at the table. Molly put the plate, loaded with sausages, fried eggs, potatoes and sliced tomatoes, in front of him, followed moments later by a plate of buttered toast and a glass of cold pumpkin juice.

"So what do you want to talk to Arthur about?" Molly asked as she continued to bustle about the kitchen. "If you don't mind me asking," she added politely, as an afterthought.

At that moment Arthur hurried into the room, stopping short as he saw Lupin. "Remus!" he exclaimed, pleased to see him. "It's been a while! What brings you here to see us?"

"A job," Remus announced happily. "I've gotten a tutoring job!"

"Oh! That's wonderful!" Molly cried, patting him on the shoulder.

Arthur reached across the table to shake Remus's hand. "Congratulations on your new job!" he said earnestly. "Who's the lucky boy or girl you'll be tutoring?" Remus was a fine teacher, Arthur knew; the only thing that had held him back from steady work was his lycanthropy. While the Ministry officially took a dim view of werewolves, neither Arthur and Molly had any concerns about Lupin, either for themselves, their children, or anyone Remus agreed to tutor. The man was a model of conscientiousness and caution in regard to his condition and the safety of others.

"Well," Remus hemmed a bit. "For the moment my clients have asked me not to divulge their names." Actually that was Dumbledore's doing — he hadn't wanted anyone in the wizarding community to know he was tutoring Harry Potter rather than having the boy attend Hogwarts.

"Understood," Arthur nodded, reaching the wrong conclusion — that some family perhaps had a child who wasn't progressing as quickly as expected and a tutor was required to advance him along. "So what can I do for you?"

There was a sudden scrambling of tiny paws as a gray rat shot across the kitchen floor and out the back through the cat-door, followed closely by one of the Weasley's cats. "My word!" Remus said, surprised. "What was _that_ all about?"

"Oh, they're just playing," Molly said, unconcerned. She glanced out the back, watching the cat chase Scabbers through the garden and past the hedge, out toward the orchard. "It's not often we see Ron's pet in a playful mood."

"Yes, well," Remus muttered, composing himself once again. "Arthur, I wanted to speak to you about an exemption for an underage wizard to practice magic outside Hogwarts."

"Ah. Hmm," Arthur pondered, as Remus took a quick bite from one of Molly's delicious sausages. "That may be a bit of a stretch," he told the younger wizard. "That's normally handled by the Improper Use of Magic Office."

"I understand," Remus nodded. "But as it is I'm afraid my — er, problem, will hinder things at the Ministry. I was hoping you could see your way clear to smoothing things over for me."

"I'm sure I can make something happen," Arthur said confidently. "You're quite right — I'm afraid the Ministry hasn't quite caught up to the fact that your — well, problem — can be controlled with the Wolfsbane Potion these days."

"It's still expensive," Remus admitted. "But once I have a job I should be able to buy the doses I need." He folded his arms across his chest, looking chagrined. "Sometimes it seems like the Ministry does everything it can to keep people like me down instead of helping us."

"Yes," Arthur nodded, a dark expression crossing his face. "I'm sure it has something to do with Cornelius's new Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge. She's rather, well, _opinionated_ about anyone who's not a bog-standard witch or wizard."

"I'd like to avoid dealing with her if possible, Arthur," Remus said, almost pleadingly. He'd heard of the woman and wanted nothing to do with her.

There was another disturbance as Scabbers and the cat came tearing through the kitchen again, from the outside. They disappeared into the front room, where there was the sound of furniture being banged into, and a loud screech. A moment later the cat scampered back through the kitchen and out the cat-door.

"Enough of _that_!" Molly said loudly. "Scabbers, behave yourself!" she shouted into the front room.

"Let's go into my study," Arthur suggested quietly. "When the children come down it's going to be even noisier."

Remus glanced down at his plate. It was still mostly full. But he wanted that exemption, so he nodded and stood, preparing to follow Arthur. Arthur turned and waved at the plate. "Bring it with you," he said. "This may take a few minutes."

When Remus hesitated, Molly added, "Go on, then, it'll be fine." He gratefully picked up the plate and followed Arthur into his study. Truth to tell, it was hard to pass up one of Molly's meals, as seldom as he had the chance to have one!

Arthur shut the door and pushed a stack of papers on his desk to one side, giving Remus a place to set his plate and glass of juice. "Let's see," he said thoughtfully, as Remus fashioned an egg and sausage sandwich from his toast and bit into it. "I think I can get Mafalda to push this through, especially if I press her a bit on it." He began filling out the application for an underage exemption. He turned to Remus. "We do need to put down a name for the boy or girl you'll be tutoring," he said, with an apologetic look.

"Yes, of course," Remus said, wiping egg from his lip with a napkin. He had come prepared with a name in mind. "The child's name is Rajas Homer Pretty."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up, and he gave Remus a bemused look. "That's an unusual name," he commented.

It was. Remus had rearranged the letters of _Harry James Potter_ to create an anagram to use for the application. Using an anagram instead of his true name allowed Harry to receive the benefits bestowed by any magic cast using it without anyone knowing who it was actually for. It was the same sort of magic Voldemort had used when rearranging the letters of his real name, _Tom Marvolo Riddle_, into _I am Lord Voldemort_.

"I thought so, too," was all Remus said.

"I see," Arthur said, sensing Remus wasn't going to clue him in any further. "Address?"

"The family is staying at the Savoy Hotel in London," Remus said.

Arthur nodded as he added that information to the application. "Will they be staying in Britain for a while?"

"I'm not sure," Remus hesitated. "I may need to travel abroad with them."

"Oh, that will be interesting!" Arthur enthused. "They have an international Portkey, then?"

"No," Remus shook his head. "They're a bit…odd, you see. They prefer to travel by Muggle methods. I think we'll be flying."

Arthur's interest perked up even more. "How fascinating! I've always wondered what it would be like to travel in one of those Muggle planoairs —"

"Aeroplanes," Remus corrected automatically.

"Yes, one of those," Arthur agreed. "Have you ever been on one?"

"No." Remus's smile was a trifle forced. "Not sure what it will be like." In truth, he wasn't altogether keen on the idea of going to another country. Even if he was being well-paid to tutor Harry, if there was no Wolfsbane Potion available in America he would be a risk to Harry every month.

Arthur looked like he wanted to say something, but he turned back to the application. "What level of magical education will you be teaching?" he asked. "Pre-O.W.L., O.W.L.-level or N.E.W.T.-level?"

"Pre-O.W.L.," Remus said.

Arthur busied himself filling in the rest of the application. He slid the parchment in front of Remus, indicating the name he'd written for the applying tutor. "I've made you R. John Lupin," he pointed out. "I think we can get by on that instead of using your first name. Sign it and I'll make a copy of it for Ministry records."

Remus quickly swallowed the last bite of his sandwich then signed the application the way Arthur had filled it out. After casting _Gemino_ on the parchment Arthur handed the original to Remus. "Keep this one with you when you're tutoring your student." He pointed to a gold seal at the bottom of the parchment. "When Malfada approves the application this seal will begin to glow softly; then you'll know the exemption is active. I'll get it to her today, so you can begin tutoring as soon as possible. You'll have to reapply for the exemption in a year but I should be able to handle that as well."

"Thank you, Arthur," Remus said gratefully, starting to get up, but a loud _squeak_ from below made him halt with a jerk. On the floor next to his feet was Ron's fat gray rat, Scabbers. "Whoops, almost stepped on you," Remus said, looking down at it. The rat squeaked at him for several seconds then ran toward the door of the study, skittering back and forth in front of it until Arthur waved his wand and the door opened; Scabbers scrambled through it and was gone.

"Sorry about that," Arthur apologized. "Scabbers has been awfully frisky lately. He doesn't usually come into my study."

"It's no problem," Remus waved off the apology. "I appreciate your help with this, Arthur. I could have gone to Dumbledore," he added candidly, "but I did want to come round and see you and Molly before I — well," he shrugged. "I don't know where this tutoring job is going to take me or how long it's going to last."

"I'm glad you got it. Best of luck in your job," Arthur said, offering Remus his hand again, and the two men shook. "I'll see you out. And don't be such a stranger from now on!"

The two men walked toward the kitchen. On the way, Remus caught sight of Scabbers again — the rat had climbed up on a divan and was resting on the wide back. Its beady little eyes seemed to follow Remus as he walked from the room.

All of the children had gathered in the kitchen for breakfast (except Ron, who was still sleeping) and all of them shouted hellos to Remus when Arthur introduced him. Thanking Molly for breakfast, Remus headed out the back door and through the gate, then Apparated away, back to the hotel in London to let Harry know they could soon begin his lessons.

**=ooo=**

Harry grimaced unhappily as Hedwig swooped back in through the hotel window, landing next to her cage. The letters Harry had written to Ron and Hermione were still dangling from her leg. "You couldn't find _either_ of them, girl?" he asked, holding up an owl treat for her efforts. Hedwig took the treat then ruffled her feathers, as if shrugging.

It didn't make any sense, Harry thought, frustrated. Both letters had come back unanswered and apparently unread. Were they ignoring him? Had he done something to upset either of them the last time he saw them? Hermione had looked upset after Uncle Vernon spoke rudely to Mrs. Weasley, but they couldn't blame _him_ for that, could they? He wasn't even living with the Dursleys anymore!

Harry glanced at his wristwatch. It was coming up on 10 a.m. — he was supposed to go see Chiun then, to get his first Sinanju lesson, on breathing correctly. Harry still didn't even know what Sinanju _was_, really, though Chiun and Remo had shown him a little of what they could do the day before, and it had been _amazing_. Chiun had thrown things at Remo faster than Harry's eyes could follow, and Remo had caught them out of the air and returned them to the elderly Oriental as though he were merely passing a salt shaker across the table. Whatever Sinanju was, it had made Harry realize Chiun and Remo were men who were capable of doing things as strange and unusual to Harry as magic was to Muggles.

There was a knock on his door, and Harry turned around. "Come in," he said, and Remus Lupin, his new magic tutor, poked his head in the door.

"A word, Harry?" he asked.

"Sure," Harry nodded. Remus walked in and up to the writing desk where Harry sat, looking at the note he'd tried to send to Ron.

"No luck getting in touch with your friends?" Remus asked, sympathetically.

"Nope," Harry said, glumly. "I dunno what's wrong, Mr. Lupin — er, Remus," he added when the wizard gave him a _Mister-Lupin-was-my-father_ look. "I hope they're not mad at me."

Remus had his own suspicions about why Harry's owl couldn't find his friends, but now was not the time to air them. "I'm sure it's nothing you've done, Harry," he said instead. "You might try again in a day or so."

Harry nodded distractedly. He'd been bursting to tell them he was no longer at the Dursleys, that he was — he was …

He was — what? He'd left the Dursleys, but now that he was no longer there, he really didn't know what he was going to do next. Trusting Chiun and Remo had been a gut reaction, but all he'd wanted at that moment was to get away from his aunt, uncle and cousin. He didn't know what he was getting into with Chiun, and while Remo didn't seem as jealous today as he had at Privet Drive, Harry still wasn't sure about him. Now he had Mr. Lupin in his life as well — someone that had actually known his parents. Hagrid had known them, too, but Remus had gone to school with them!

Remus was giving him a curious look. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm… yeah, I'm okay," Harry murmured. "Were you one of my father's friends at school?" he suddenly asked.

Remus was momentarily taken aback. "We were friends, yes," he nodded after a moment.

"Were you his best friend?" Harry asked. "I saw you with them in some pictures Hagrid gave me."

Remus had not thought about those few pictures that had been taken of him with James and Lily in a long time. "We were good friends, I'd say." He smiled at some remembered moments from their past. Someday he'd have to tell Harry about them…

"Can I ask you something?" Harry ventured, perhaps because of the smile on Remus's lips. "Mr. Chiun told me about someone who was at my parent's house."

"Oh?" Remus came out of his reverie. "When was this?"

Harry hesitated. "Uh, the night my — my mum and dad were killed," he muttered, his voice almost disappearing.

Remus was fully alert now. "Your parents? How would he know about _that_?"

"He said he was there," Harry told him. "He said he was supposed to find Voldemort and — stop him."

_That_ was intriguing, Remus thought. Dumbledore hadn't told him anything about Chiun or Remo, or explained what a "Master of Sinanju" was, but this Chiun must be quite exceptional if he was sent to deal with Voldemort. "Are you asking me about Voldemort, Harry?" he asked gently, wondering what the boy wanted to know about the man who'd tried to kill him.

"No, not him," Harry said. "Mr. Chiun told me that Hagrid showed up shortly after the house blew up. And he said another man showed up, on a flying motorcycle." Remus blinked. "Mr. Chiun said Hagrid called him — er, Sirius Black, I think. Do you know who he is?"

"Yes," Remus said slowly. "He was a friend of your father as well." Remus hadn't reacted beyond a blink of surprise, but inwardly his mind was whirling. Why would Sirius have gone back to Godric's Hollow? He had just betrayed his best friend and his family! "What did Master Chiun say about him?"

"Just that he lent his motorcycle to Hagrid to take me, um…" Harry shrugged. "I don't know where, I guess, unless it was to my aunt and uncle's house. I don't remember any of that."

"I see…" But Remus wasn't listening anymore. He was too busy trying to work out why Sirius would return to the place where he'd betrayed James and Lily. Had he learned Voldemort had been defeated and gone to see for himself? "Harry," Remus looked intently at Harry. "What else did Master Chiun say?"

"Um," Harry thought hard for several moments. "He, er, said that after Hagrid left he stood there looking at the house for a while. The he said something about it being someone named, um, Petti-something's fault, then disappeared."

Remus's expression hardened. Before Sirius killed him, Peter had shouted that Sirius had betrayed James and Lily…

Remus cocked his head, considering. Why would Peter say something like that? It was only him, Sirius, and a street full of Muggles. The only reason anyone even knew what he'd said in the first place was that the Muggles who survived the explosion that killed Peter and twelve others were questioned before they were Obliviated and given false memories about a gas main exploding. The spell Sirius cast had set off alarms at the Ministry and within seconds, a dozen Aurors arrived on the scene to find Black standing ankle-deep in gore, laughing madly. Albus had told him that, within the hour, just on the bare facts of the incident, Sirius had been sent off to Azkaban — one of the quickest trials Remus had ever heard of.

"Mr. Lupin?"

Remus jumped. Harry was giving him an odd look. "Are _you_ okay?"

Remus nodded. "I'm fine, just thinking about…" His voice trailed off. He was thinking about a lot of things that suddenly weren't adding up about that day.

"About Sirius Black?" Harry asked. "Was he a good friend to my dad?"

"He was your dad's best friend," Remus said, automatically, then wished he hadn't — Harry's eyes were shining with interest. "I'll tell you about him sometime," he told Harry. "But it's almost time for your first lesson with Master Chiun."

"Oh, yeah," Harry remembered, disappointed he wasn't going to hear about another of his father's friends. "Don't forget — it's a promise."

"Right," Remus smiled weakly. Then he remembered what he'd come to ask. "Oh, by the way, Harry. I've applied for the exemption allowing you to practice magic outside of school, and Master Chiun has asked me for a list of the subjects I plan to teach you," he explained. "I wanted to ask when you'd like to get started."

"Er —" Harry hadn't really thought about getting back into magic so soon into the summer holiday, but he couldn't think of a reason why he shouldn't. "I guess we can start whenever you like, sir. I mean, Remus."

"Excellent," Remus smiled. "I'll prepare a lesson plan immediately. We'll start you off with the Grade Two _Standard Book of Spells_. My lessons are practical as well as theoretical, Harry, so have your wand warmed up and ready to go when you come for your lessons."

"I will," Harry promised. "Well, I'll go see Mr. Chiun now."

Remus nodded and Harry left his room, going to the room next door. Just as he put his hand up to knock the door opened and Remo stepped through, closing the door behind him. "What's —"

"Shhh," Remo said, very quietly. He motioned for Harry to follow him. Harry did, wondering what was going on. Several doors from Chiun's room Remo stopped and turned to Harry.

"Chiun will be ready in just a few minutes," he said, still speaking quietly.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"He's watching his soaps," Remo explained.

Harry gave Remo an odd look. Aunt Petunia had watched _Coronation Street_ and some other daytime shows, but imagining the old Oriental watching something like that seemed, well, a bit strange. "You're joking," he said without thinking.

"It's true," Remo insisted. "And I've got to warn you, kid, _don't_ make any noise — don't even go _near_ him while he's watching his shows. He doesn't like to be disturbed when they're on."

Harry shrugged. His cousin Dudley would throw a fit if anyone talked while _The Great Humberto_ was on. Harry had always thought it was a stupid show, but it made Dudley laugh and he was usually in a good mood after he'd watched it, so he didn't bully Harry as much, which was always a welcome change. He guessed it didn't really matter what Chiun watched.  
"We can go in now," Remo said. "But don't say anything until he asks you something." Harry followed Remo back into the room, noticing again that Remo moved without making any sound at all.

Remo and Chiun's room was the same as Harry's, except that on top of the telly there was a video recording machine, similar to the one his aunt and uncle had bought for Dudley on his 11th birthday, one of the thirty-nine presents he'd received that year. Harry could tell the machine was running; he could see the lights were on and the counter was going up.

They waited for three more minutes while the Master of Sinanju watched the rest of the recording of the beautiful daytime drama _As the Planet Revolves_, one of his favorites. He then seemed to rise in the air, moving slowly upward as his kimono fluttered beneath him, until he was on his feet.

"Now," Chiun said to Harry. "We may begin to correct your breathing."

An hour later Harry, red-faced and sweating, was silently reconsidering his agreement to learn Sinanju. No matter what he did, nothing seemed to please Chiun. "Stop, stop," the old man was saying. "You are not even trying to breathe properly."

"Yes I am!" Harry insisted. "I'm doing exactly what you tell me!"

"If that were true I would not have to keep telling you to do it over and over," Chiun groused. "You whites always make simple things so complicated."

Harry rolled his eyes at the dig against whites. "There's nothing complicated about breathing," he muttered. "I do it all the time."

"And poorly, I might add," Chiun retorted. "It is a wonder that, between your atrocious breathing and your weakened, malnourished body that you can move at all."

What? "I'm not malnourished!" Harry objected. "I got all I wanted to eat and more at school!"

Chiun clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "That much is evident in the rolls of fat covering your body."

"Huh?" Harry looked down at himself. He didn't think he looked fat at all. He was thinner than Ron, and Ron could eat like a horse and never gained weight.

"He's not that overweight, Chiun," Remo, who'd been watching from the divan, commented. "Remember, I lost something like 50 pounds during my training."

"I'm not overweight at all!" Harry said. "And I'm not malnourished, either!"

"Hate to tell you, kid," Remo disagreed, "Chiun's right." His face darkened. "If I ever see your uncle again, he's not going to enjoy our reunion."

"You must learn to breathe properly if we are to correct your other deficiencies," Chiun lectured. The boy _was_ trying, he saw; perhaps he lacked the instinct for correct breath Remo had shown so soon in his training. "You must pull the breath as deeply into yourself as you can, all the way down to your groin."

"I'm trying!" Harry looked on the verge of tears. What Chiun was asking him to do was impossible — your lungs were in your chest, not your stomach! He put his hands over his diaphragm. "My lungs are up here," he said.

"I know where your lungs are, child," Chiun said patiently. "I've seen enough of them during my life."

"What?" That statement confused Harry.

"Never mind," Chiun said. He glanced toward his first apprentice. "_What is the boy doing wrong, Remo_?" he asked in Korean.

Remo had been remembering his own initial training with Chiun. The Master of Sinanju had not been as patient with him as he was with Harry. Remo had been an adult when he started learning Sinanju, and he'd given Chiun a lot of attitude back then. He'd even called Chiun a "gook" when they first met, which cost him what felt like hours of pain writhing on the floor of the Folcroft gymnasium.

"_I don't think the kid's doing anything wrong_," Remo responded, also in Korean. "_I think it's _you."

"Heh, heh," Chiun snorted. "_Be serious, Remo_. _Of course it cannot be me_."

"_Right, I forgot_," Remo slapped himself lightly on the side of his head. "_Chiun the Teacher is incapable of mistakes_."

"_I am surprised you remembered_," Chiun muttered. "_But you are correct_."

"Let me have a try," Remo said in English, standing and moving to the floor, sitting next to Harry. "How you doing, kid?" he asked in a friendly manner, trying to put Harry at ease.

"I don't know, Mr. Remo!" Harry was still agitated. "I keep trying to do what Mr. Chiun says, but —"

"Okay, okay — just relax and listen to me," Remo told the kid, trying to get him to concentrate on his voice. Harry nodded, still looking upset, but at least he wasn't hyperventilating as he desperately tried to imitate Chiun. "What I want you to do is take a deep breath — as deep as you possibly can, and hold it in as long as possible."

"But I've _been_ trying —"

"I know you have," Remo cut over his objection. "Just do what I say, okay?"

"Okay," Harry muttered, then took in the biggest breath he could; his thin chest swelled visibly as he inhaled. He stayed that way a surprisingly long time for a skinny kid whose only exercise had been running from bullies for the past ten years. His cheeks were bulging around his tightly-pressed lips — Remo knew he wouldn't be able to hold it much longer…

When Harry exhaled, Remo was ready. His hand went below Harry's sternum, pressing in as his other hand supported Harry's back. He pushed the last bit of old, stale air out of Harry's lungs, then watched as Harry's body breathed in on its own, filling his lungs again with precious air. "Wow," Harry said, breathing normally again. "That was — that was _brilliant_. I feel a lot better now, Mr. Remo."

"Good, kid, good," Remo nodded, standing. "And just call me Remo, okay?"

Harry looked up at him and smiled. "Okay. Remo."

"_Slow down a bit, Little Father_," he said to Chiun. "_Don't expect the kid to learn proper breathing in just an hour_."

"_Interesting technique you used_," Chiun replied. "_Though it does not compare with my flawless teaching skills_."

"I remember your teaching skills," Remo said dryly. "_You had me flat on my back, gasping for air like a fish out of water_."

"_You learned, didn't you_?" Chiun retorted. In English he said to Harry, "Continue your breathing exercises. At six p.m. we will have something to eat. We will resume your training tomorrow morning. You will meet with your magical tutor in the afternoons."

"I have to contact Smitty later," Remo spoke up. "He'll want to know how long we'll be staying here before we come home."

"I wish for Harry to learn proper breathing before we leave England," Chiun replied. "Tell the Emperor we will return then."

"And when's _that_ going to be?" Remo wanted to know.

"When Harry is ready," Chiun said calmly. "Not before."

"He's not going to like that answer," Remo grumbled. "He's already —" he switched to Korean "— _he's already unhappy you_ _decided to start training someone else, someone you tricked me into getting Smith to find for you_."

"_Emperors are seldom impressed with the wisdom of their betters_," Chiun answered sagely. He returned to English. "Harry, you may return to your room now."

Harry nodded and left, trying to remember to breathe the way Chiun and Remo had shown him. And _this_ time, when he got the opportunity to eat something he wasn't going to pass it up!

**=ooo=**

Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore sat behind the large wooden desk in his office at Hogwarts, carefully reading once again the latest letter he'd received from Remus Lupin. It was early August, over a month since Harry left Privet Drive, and things were not looking good.

Or rather, things were not good from _his_ perspective, Dumbledore corrected himself. Things were probably wonderful, from the boy's point of view.

_Albus,_

_Harry continues to do better and better in his training sessions with Master Chiun. Harry tells me he is still not performing the way Chiun hopes he will, but he said Chiun told him that within a month or two he should be able to breathe correctly._

_I am having Harry read through the Standard Book of Spells for Grade 2. He is doing well with the spells, though he seems to understand them more from intuition than from knowing the theory._

_Chiun has told me of his and your plan to give Harry at least a year before making the decision to continue with his Sinanju training or not. I don't see that as a problem — at the rate he's learning Harry may be through Grade 3 by this time next year._

_Harry has also expressed his frustration to me over being unable to contact his friends Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger via owl post. Perhaps that was a ward you placed on Harry while he was staying with his aunt and uncle in Surrey? You may want to consider removing it from him now._

_I'm sure you haven't forgotten but I'll mention again that I'd like to see a transcript of Sirius's trial. Would you send it along with your next owl?_

_I will continue to check in as per your request. I should add that Harry told me a few days ago that Remo said they had to get back to America eventually, that he still had work to do there. When that happens I will no longer be able to send you owl updates._

_It has been enjoyable seeing Harry again after all these years, From what little he has said about his previous home his aunt and uncle did not care much for him. I am surprised you allowed that to go on as long as you did. I think it's important that Harry be allowed to contact his friends before we leave for America. Remo is making arrangements for me to accompany them — when I ask who is making the arrangements he simply says, "upstairs."_

_As always, my continued wishes for your health and happiness._

_Sincerely,  
__Remus Lupin_

Albus dropped the letter onto his desk with a sigh. The situation with Harry's friends was not as simple as Remus believed. If young Mister Weasley or Miss Granger became aware that Harry had left Privet Drive, it would be a secret no longer, and the news would spread until it finally reached the wrong ears. Once those who had been Death Eaters learned of it, they could use Harry's absence in the Wizarding world to their advantage. It was almost certain that they knew by now of Quirrell's demise and that it may have been due to Lord Voldermot. After that, some of them might take drastic measures to hasten the return of the Dark Lord.

In the weeks since Harry had abandoned Privet Drive, he had taken it upon himself to learn as much as possible about the old Oriental who could do things no ordinary Muggle could do. His inquiries and research had uncovered disturbing facts about the Masters of Sinanju, a small, mysterious group of men who were known around the world and throughout history.

Masters of Sinanju could move silently and without being seen, almost as if they were both Disillusioned and Silenced; they could scale sheer walls as fast as a man could run. They were able to swim underwater for up to an hour without breathing, and could dodge and even catch bullets. Such abilities had served them well in the profession they had practiced down through the centuries.

The Masters of Sinanju were assassins.

Ruthless and cunning, without regard or compassion for the lives of others, Master of Sinanju were capable of dealing death with the stroke of a foot, a hand or even a steel-hard finger. Dumbledore shivered at the thought that such men could exist in the world, reveling in their ability to kill with seeming impunity.

Such were the rumors Albus had uncovered about these men from Sinanju, and specifically about the man who called himself Chiun, who had once been known as Nuihc in the days of the Second Muggle World War. The Muggle King of that time had hired the Master of Sinanju to travel to Germany in 1945 and dispatch (a convenient euphemism for _murder_, Dumbledore thought to himself) the Muggle dictator Adolph Hitler in order to bring about a quicker end to the war. It was said that Hitler, upon learning that the Master of Sinanju was coming for him, chose to kill himself instead. Whether that was true or not Dumbledore had no way to know for sure, but Hitler had committed suicide shortly after Chiun had been hired by King George VI.

More recently, Dumbledore had also learned, Queen Elizabeth herself had contacted the U.S. President in 1981, asking him to locate Nuihc, the Master of Sinanju, for another mission: this time to kill Voldemort. How that was accomplished was unknown, but Nuihc, now named Chiun, had come to Britain, Dumbledore had been told, but once again events conspired to vanquish his target before the Master of Sinanju could get to him.

Why the old man had changed his name from Nuihc to Chiun was not known, but there were other rumors, rumors of a different man using the same name, a younger Korean who also sold his services as an assassin. Perhaps Chiun had changed his name to distinguish himself from the other Nuihc? Regardless, that was a minor point — there were larger issues to consider.

He had erred grievously in allowing Chiun to keep Harry, Dumbledore realized, with chagrin. What he _should_ have done, after the disastrous first meeting the with Master of Sinanju, was to return to the Ministry, organize a rescue party of its top Aurors, including his old friend Alastor Moody, along with Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt, two of the Ministry's best Aurors, and go back to the hotel and take Harry from the two men by force. Chiun might have been able to overpower Dumbledore alone, but the massed skill and magic of a dozen Aurors should have been more than enough to prevail.

However, he reminded himself, hindsight had perfect vision, while foresight was oft cloudy and hard to perceive. Dumbledore's far-reaching plans to bring about Voldemort's downfall had been derailed because of a diminutive, elderly Korean assassin.

He had also acquired and viewed Petunia's memories of that evening. Vernon Dursley, her husband and Harry's uncle, had tried to stop the two men when they entered his house. The younger one, Remo, had barely moved, but Dursley was suddenly down on the floor, groaning in pain. Mere moments later, when he argued with Remo _again_ (the man seemed to have no common sense at all, Dumbledore noted) the thinner man had grasped Dursley's earlobe, instantly rendering him helpless. Thereafter, the three Muggles had remained mostly silent, with occasional outbursts from Vernon that were silenced with only a look or gesture from Remo or Chiun.

Dumbledore had watched, amazed, as Chiun broke a heavy Muggle lock with only his fingertips, then ripped a firmly attached latch from the cupboard so his apprentice could get inside and remove Harry's trunk. He watched as the ancient assassin explained his outlandish prophecy theory to Harry, surprising even his apprentice. He explained his equally absurd theory of how men acquired different skin colors to Harry, who looked dumbfounded by such foolishness.

But in the end, Harry had decided to leave with the two men. He must have been _very_ unhappy at the Dursleys, Dumbledore realized now. Well, that could be remedied, of course; the Durlseys could be "convinced" to be nicer to Harry, once they were made to understand that their earlier treatment of him was unacceptable.

Could Remus be persuaded that Harry should be returned to the Dursleys? Dumbledore pondered the idea. Would Harry have talked to the older man about it? Probably not, Dumbledore decided; according to Arthur and Molly he hadn't said anything to either Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger at King's Cross, evidently, even as he left with the Dursleys.

Sending the transcript of Sirius's trial to Remus would be a problem, simply because there had been no trial. Dumbledore wasn't proud of that fact, but he'd been so discouraged by Sirius's betrayal of Lily and James that he'd allowed DMLE Head Barty Crouch and Minister Bagnold to summarily sentence Sirius to Azkaban without holding a trial, as was required by the rules of the Wizengamot. A majority of the members of the Wizengamot in the session had also allowed it, so there wasn't much Albus could have done to stop it. Still, Remus would not be happy to learn that fact. Dumbledore sighed, feeling his age for a moment. He would have to talk to Remus soon about that.

In more encouraging news, Arthur had agreed to take Harry's place at Hogwarts this fall. The special Polyjuice Potion Dumbledore was brewing, more powerful than the normal kind found in less specialized texts such as _Moste Potent Potions_ or _Advanced Potion-Making_, was almost ready; Dumbledore himself would prepare the doses using special vials that would hold a hair from Harry Potter separate from the raw potion until Arthur was ready to drink it. It would transform him into Harry for 24 hours. That was quite a bit of potion — to be safe, Dumbledore had made enough to last from the beginning of August to the end of June, eleven months.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had dictated everything he'd seen or heard from Harry during his first year onto a special parchment scroll that could only be read by Arthur himself; that should give him some insight into how the boy thought and acted. And he would have about a month, beginning in a few days, to practice being Harry when Arthur began his administrative leave from the Ministry and ostensibly left Britain, all the while staying at the Burrow disguised as Harry. Dumbledore sincerely hoped Arthur wouldn't do or say anything during that time to give away his real identity!

Harry's place for the school year would be complicated by the friends Harry had made during his first year at Hogwarts. His best friend and dorm mate, Ronald Weasley, was also Arthur's son. Ronald would be aware of the peculiarities of both his father's and Harry's character, so Arthur would have to be careful to not display any emotions or say anything that only Ronald's parents would know. His two older twin brothers, Fred and George, didn't know Harry quite as well, but fooling them could be difficult as well.

Even more difficult would be Harry's other close friendship, that being with Hermione Granger. Miss Granger was a very bright, very gifted young witch, with a very good memory and critical thinking skills above those of many adults. If anyone was likely to see through Arthur's impersonation of Harry Potter, it would be her. Arthur would have to be very careful what he said around her!

Severus was a concern as well. His dislike for Harry would likely drive him to find fault, real or imagined, with the boy, and Severus could be quite unfair in his dealings with students outside his own House; it did not seem to matter how often Dumbledore reminded him to be more equitable in his dealings with the students, he eventually slipped back into old habits and hostilities.

It was a risk, Dumbledore knew, but he had little recourse if he wished to maintain the illusion that Harry Potter was still in Britain, still attending Hogwarts. Suddenly, next June and his follow-up meeting with Master Chiun seemed almost impossibly far in the future. Albus glanced up at his phoenix, Fawkes, who was trilling softly in response to Dumbledore's depressed mood. "Thank you," he murmured gratefully to his pet, smiling gently. "I hope young Harry quickly realizes the mistake he is making in leaving his home and Hogwarts." He sighed, softly. "I am asking much of Arthur and his family as well. But it must be done if we are to keep Voldemort and his followers from gaining the upper hand." He paused, allowing the phoenix song to comfort him and relax his mind, and the situation felt more tenable to him. Perhaps, he considered, he should talk to Remus in person about Sirius's trial, explain exactly what had occurred. He owned that much to the younger wizard, the last of the circle of friends that had included James, Lily and even Sirius.

**=ooo=**

Ron yawned hugely as he rubbed his eyes, trying to clear sleep from them so he could read the letter that had just arrived. It was still rather early in the morning — the post owl had flown in his window just as the sun was beginning to show over the trees to the east of the Burrow. It hooted at him, a bit rudely Ron thought — he'd just woken up, for Merlin's sake! He untied the letter from the owl's leg and began to unroll it. The owl spread its wings with a squawk — apparently expecting a treat or some water before it left.

"There's a bowl of water over there," Ron pointed to Scabber's water dish, sitting in a corner. The owl hooted derisively and flew out the window. "Fine," Ron muttered. "_Don't_ get something to drink before you leave, then." Ron looked around for his pet rat, but Scabbers wasn't lying on his usual spot on the bed. Maybe he was already off somewhere sunning himself, Ron thought. He shrugged and began to read.

_Dear Ron,  
__How are you this summer? I have been doing fine, except I'm a little bored with nothing to do now that my holiday homework is completed._

Ron shook his head, mystified that anyone would willingly do _homework_ during the summer holiday. But that was Hermione for you. She'd rather read a book or write an essay than, say, go out for a swim or practice a bit of flying!

_Mum and Dad want to take a trip to Paris after we pick up my school books in Diagon Alley next week. I know they won't let me bring all my books along, They told me I could pick one to bring along, so I've been trying to decide which Gilderoy Lockhart book I want to read the most! It's so interesting reading all of the things he's done, don't you think?_

_No_, Ron thought, with a snort. The letters from Hogwarts had come the other day, and he'd seen the worried look on Mum's face when she'd read how many of Lockhart's books they'd have to buy. Mum already had some of his "helpful home hints for the harried housewitch" books, and she thought Lockhart was "a wonderful author." Bleah, Ron groaned. Fred had whispered that Mum _fancied_ Lockhart, and she'd given him a look that silenced him straightaway.

_There's another thing I wanted to ask you, Ron. Have you heard from Harry lately? I thought he was going to write us but I haven't gotten a letter from him since we last saw him at King's Cross. I'm a little worried because his uncle seemed a bit unhappy when he picked Harry up. Maybe they're not letting Harry send out letters. If you've heard from him, let me know so I won't worry._

_If you can make it to Diagon Alley next Wednesday, I'll see you there. Mr. Lockhart is having a book signing at Flourish and Blotts that day, and I want to get my books signed by him. If I don't see you there then I'll look for you on the Hogwarts Express on September first. I hope you enjoy the rest of the summer!_

_Your friend,  
__Hermione Granger_

Ron dropped the letter on his bed. He'd been wondering the same thing about Harry, in fact. He'd sent over a dozen letters to Harry so far, asking him if he could come to the Burrow for a visit, but hadn't gotten a single reply yet. With Hedwig it shouldn't be a problem sending out a letter to him or Hermione — so why hadn't he written?

If Hermione was right (and she usually was, Ron had to admit) Harry might be in trouble with his Muggle relatives. His uncle had been downright rude to Mum, though she didn't start shouting at the man, which was a bit off for her. Maybe she thought it would get Harry in trouble, Ron decided.

He picked up the letter again, looking at it and trying to decide what to do next. If there was a way he could check up on Harry, make sure he was okay… But how? Harry had told him about the owls delivering his first letter from Hogwarts and how it had made his uncle go absolutely mental, keeping Harry from reading it and every other letter sent from the school until Hagrid finally delivered one in person on Harry's eleventh birthday. Sending Errol with a letter was out, then — assuming their ancient family owl could make the trip to Little Whinging in the first place! So what was left to try?

Ron shook his head. There was nothing else for it — he would have to go right to the top.

He'd have to talk to Fred and George.

Ron trudged down the steps to the second floor, where the twins' bedroom was located. He knocked on the door.

"Go 'way, Ron," Fred or George said.

Ron scowled. "What makes you think it's Ron?" he asked, making his voice deeper, like Bill or Charlie's.

"Because Mum never knocks," one of them yelled back. "And you're tits at pretending you're Bill or Charlie. What d'you want?"

"I need some help," Ron admitted.

Silence for several seconds. Then the door suddenly yanked open, and both Fred and George were there, giving him appraising looks. "Help, eh?" either Fred or George said shrewdly. "Come in, little brother, and we'll discuss our fee for services to be rendered."

When Ron was inside and the door shut again, he held up the letter. "I got a letter from Hermione —"

"Broke up with you, did she?" The twins gave him sympathetic looks tinged with a smirk. "Better luck with the next one, Ronnikins."

"It's not that," Ron snapped, turning red. He thrust the letter toward them. "Read."

They took the letter and both began reading at the same time. "Interesting," George (or Fred) muttered. "Got her holiday homework done already. Impressive for a firstie."

"Read the part about Harry," Ron prompted irritably.

"Hmm," Fred said a minute later. "Harry still hasn't written you?" he asked Ron.

"Not once," Ron replied, shaking his head. "It's been over a month now! I wonder if the Muggles won't let him. I don't think they'll let him get any owl posts, either. They kept his Hogwarts letter from him until Hagrid delivered it."

Fred and George looked at each other. "What do you think?" George asked.

"Bit of a risk," Fred admitted. "But —"

"Harry's worth it," they both finished, nodding.

"What?" Ron asked, not following. "What's a risk?"

"Going to check it out," George said. "Could take several hours to get there and back. We have to make sure Mum doesn't suspect a thing."

"Suspect what?" Ron said, louder than he meant to.

"Shush, little brother," Fred warned him. "The walls have ears." He pointed to the wall of their room, which indeed had ears of several shapes and sizes growing out of it. He took out his wand and waved it toward them; earmuffs appeared, covering the ears.

"Right, then," George said as Fred put away his wand. "We'll mount a search and rescue mission for Harry, to get him away from the Muggles if they're holding him against his will."

"How're we gonna get from Devon to Surrey," Ron wondered. "It's like three hours there by broom!"

The twins smiled deviously. "We have a better idea. You know that old car Dad has locked up in the garage?"

"What, that old pile of junk?" Ron looked incredulous. "We can't drive that thing there! None of us have money for petrol, and we'd have to drive at like 100 MPH to get there and back in four or five hours! The Muggles would stop us for sure!"

"Don't you know what Dad's been up to?" Fred informed him. "Get your head out of your arse, Ron. Dad's been enchanting that car so it will fly."

"Fly?" Ron's jaw dropped. "But, that's illegal!"

Fred and George both rolled their eyes. "Actually, it's _not_ illegal," Fred said, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Dad _works_ for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, remember? He worked a loophole into the legislation he wrote — it's not illegal to _make_ a flying car if you never _intend_ to actually fly it."

"You're joking!" Ron gasped. That was pretty sneaky of his father, if he actually did that. "But won't it be illegal if _we_ fly it?"

"Well, we won't actually be _doing_ any magic just to fly it to Harry's house," George pointed out. "So we're covered there. And if we can get him out of the house and in the car without using any magic, we're perfectly fine."

"Plus," Fred added. "Since it's Harry, we won't even charge him — or _you_, little brother — for the taxi service."

"Well, the price is right," Ron agreed, with a shrug. "So when do we do this?"

"Tonight, of course," Fred and George chorused.

"After dinner we'll go out and play some Quidditch," Fred continued. "When we come in, we'll tell Mum we're tired and turning in early; then, after she's gone to bed, we'll go out to the shed, pick the lock on the door, and head for Surrey."

"What about Dad?" Ron worried.

"He's got night duty," George replied. "The Ministry's got him out looking for wizards who're selling jinxed Muggle objects to Muggles for a laugh. He should be gone 'til morning."

Ron nodded, but then he remembered — "What about Ginny? What if she hears us sneaking out? We have to go past her room to get downstairs. If she hears us she'll tell Mum for sure."

"Easy enough," Fred grinned. "She can play Quidditch with us. That should wear her out enough so she'll stay asleep as we leave."

"Great!" Ron beamed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "I just hope Harry isn't having too much fun right now."

Fred and George both raised their eyebrows at him.

"I mean, I hope the Muggles aren't treating him _too_ badly!" Ron corrected himself. "Oi, you know what I mean!"

**=ooo=**

Molly Weasley opened her eyes.

It was several hours before dawn. The other half of the bed was still empty, so Arthur hadn't gotten away from work yet. But that wasn't unusual; his office conducted midnight raids fairly often. He usually didn't make it home 'til past dawn on those days. That wasn't why she'd awakened early, however…

Fred and George were up to something.

That bit about them being tired after a couple of hours playing Quidditch in the orchard hadn't rung true. And then letting Ginny play as well, even _asking_ her if she wanted to? That was a dead giveaway.

She got out of bed and slipped on her housecoat, then walked out onto the fourth floor landing. She turned to walk down the stairs, but stopped and looked toward the steps leading up to Ron's room. She should probably check on him as well.

Molly slowly opened the door to Ron's room, peering inside. Ron's bed was unmade and empty. Ron's rat Scabbers was asleep on Ron's pillow. Molly sighed, then walked down the stairs to the second floor. She listened briefly at Percy's door, smiling as she heard her third son's soft snores. No chance _Percy_ had been in on whatever Fred, George and Ron were up to!

She glanced inside Fred and George's room, seeing lumps in the beds that turned out to be pillows rather than her sons. So the three youngest boys were out doing _something_. When she caught up with them —!

After making sure Ginny was still asleep, Molly went down to the kitchen and set a kettle full of water on the stove to make some tea for herself. Wherever those three were off to, they'd have to come back before long, before she normally woke up, and try to sneak back upstairs like they'd never been gone. _Then_ she'd give them what for!

The kettle began to whistle and she made a cup of tea and sat drinking it, thinking what kind of punishment she would give to the boys when they got home. The garden needed de-gnoming again — _that_ would be their first chore, she thought, crossly.

Molly was on her third cup of tea when there was a _thump_ outside, near Arthur's shed. She looked outside and her jaw dropped.

That rusty old Muggle car Arthur had bought was pulling _into_ the shed! Dear Merlin, what had those boys been up to? As Molly watched, Fred, George and Ron came out of the shed, quietly shut the doors and refastened the lock. They were talking among themselves, so quietly Molly couldn't hear. Well, they'd better speak up while they were explaining themselves! Molly strode out the back door, heading toward them.

Ron saw her first. He stopped, looking at her apprehensively, and Fred and George turned to see her coming toward them.

"_Ah_," Fred groaned.

"Oh, dear," George muttered. The three boys halted in their tracks.

Molly walked up to the lot of them and stood there, her hands on her hips, glaring at them. "_So_," she said at last.

"Morning, Mum," George said brightly. As if _that_ would sway her in the least!

"Do you know how worried I've been?" she hissed.

"Sorry, Mum," Fred said, in an entirely reasonable tone. "But you see, we had to go —"

"_Your beds were empty_!" Molly shouted at them. "_No note_! _I was out of my mind with worry_! _Did any of you lot care _—? _We _never_ had trouble like this with Bill or Charlie or Percy _—"

"Perfect Percy," Fred muttered, without thinking.

"YOU COULD DO TAKING A LEAF FROM PERCY'S BOOK!" Molly screeched, poking Fred's chest as she spoke. "You could have _died_! You could have been _seen_! You could have lost your father his _job_ —!"

"Mum!" Ron shouted, pleading. "We had to go get Harry!"

"Really?!" Molly retorted, looking around. "Where is he, then?!"

"He wasn't home!" Ron said desperately.

"Where _was_ he, then?" Molly said loudly, still angry.

"We don't know!" all three boys said. "He hasn't written anyone in weeks!" Ron went on urgently, trying to calm his mother and alert her to Harry's predicament at the same time. "I wrote him! Hermione wrote him! Neither of us have gotten _anything_ from him!"

"Small wonder!" Molly snapped at him. "Harry Potter is —"

And she remembered.

"— is — is not used to using owls," she said, changing direction in mid-sentence. Fred, George and Ron's eyebrows all went up.

"Mum," Ron said quietly. "Harry saw owls flying in and out of the Great Hall every _day_."

"Well — that's not the same as using them himself, is it?" Molly retorted, her mind whirling frantically to find a way clear of this. "Did you check to see if his aunt and uncle were home?"

"Well, no," Ron said. "We just went up to his bedroom window — he told me during school where it was in the house — and saw it was empty. No Harry, no Hedwig — not even his trunk was in there!"

"Well, for your information, young man," Molly said sternly. "Harry is off on holiday with the Muggles, and when he gets back he'll be joining us here at the Burrow until school begins! So the three of you went off to rescue him for no reason!" She heaved a sigh — of relief, though the boys would never know that. "_And_," she added, her voice gaining in volume again. "You _took_ your father's _car_, something you should have _known_ you shouldn't do!" She pointed at the Burrow. "Now get inside so you can eat breakfast, and _then_ you'll have some de-gnoming to do in the garden! I don't know _what_ your father's going to think when he hears about this!"

Thoroughly cowed, the three boys marched ahead of their mother into the kitchen, though each of them had a tiny smile threatening to escape their lips. Their father was more likely to want to know how the car flew than get mad at them for taking it.

Later, while they were clearing out the garden gnomes, Fred turned to his two brothers. "Did Mum seem a bit … _off_ to you?" he asked.

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked. "You mean like —" He pointed at his temple with one finger, twirling it.

"Well, she's always like that," Fred admitted. "But I meant when you told her Harry was missing. It sounded like she was going to say something else about him."

"D'you think she knows something about Harry?" George put in.

"Well, she knew he was supposed to be coming here," Fred reminded them.

"I wonder why she didn't tell us that before — ow!" Ron dropped the gnome he'd just picked up as it bit him on the finger. He launched a kick that sent the gnome flying over the hedge.

"Nice one, Ron," Fred observed. "And that's a good question." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe it was supposed to be a surprise."

"But Mum _likes_ Harry," George pointed out. "I'm surprised she kept it a secret."

"She does like him," Ron agreed. There was a twinge of jealousy in his comment.

"No doubt," Fred nodded. He looked at George. "D'you think we could talk his Muggle uncle and aunt into swapping him for Ron? Mum would _really_ like that!"

"Ha-ha," Ron said, resentfully. He grabbed a gnome who'd come running out of his gnome-hole to watch the de-gnoming, giving him an extra-vicious twirl before throwing him over the hedge. "You prats stink, you know that?"

"_Aaaah_, we'll keep you then, ickle Ronnikins," Fred teased him. "But I know Ginny'd want to send you to the Muggles, if she thought that'd keep Harry here with her."

Ron didn't say anything to that, but he knew Fred was right: Ginny had been talking about Harry Potter all summer, about meeting him when she started school that year, or even before that if she saw him on the Hogwarts Express or even at Diagon Alley when they went next week for their school supplies. Harry was his best mate, but it didn't make him feel very good, knowing that his sister might prefer him over her own flesh and blood.

Ron shook his head angrily, trying to cast out such thoughts as they finished de-gnoming the garden. If Harry was coming here, they might have to have a talk about things.

**=ooo=**

The small, fat man sat down heavily at the edge of the Weasley pond, just outside the wards guarding the Burrow. It had taken him over a month to come to this decision, to leave the safety and security of the Burrow so he could become human once again, and now he'd done it. He'd finally done it. But could he go the rest of the way?

It was a strange sensation to be sitting here in the pale light of the nearly full moon, in his own body once again, after all that time in his other form. The weight of his human body, the feel of grass beneath his palm, the coolness of the slight breeze on his bare face, were novel sensations for him now. He leaned forward, looking at his reflection in the surface of the pond. The previous eleven years had not been kind to him, he realized. His light brown hair was going patchy and he was nearly bald on top; his eyes were beadier than he remembered them; and even though he was rather stout his nose gave his face the impression of being pointy.

He let himself fall back on the ground, looking up at the night sky. _You can still go back_, he reminded himself. _It's not too late to turn round and hole up again, hide once more until it was safe to come out_. The Dark Lord wasn't dead, that much was already known, though very few of his lord's followers had gotten confirmation of it as he had. He had positioned himself well, the small man smiled to himself.

He now had even more important information. The Boy-Who-Lived, the child who had somehow defeated the most powerful Dark Lord of all, had left his own hiding-place and gone out into the world.

For a decade the wizarding world had wondered and speculated over Harry Potter's whereabouts. He'd kept up with the gossip as best he could, pouring over old issues of the _Daily_ _Prophet_ Arthur Weasley left on his desk, along with bits and pieces of correspondence Weasley had kept up with other wizards over the years. The small man smiled thinly. Arthur liked to think of himself as being too proper to engage in gossip, but he speculated just as much as anyone on what had become of the boy. His wife Molly was even worse — time and again she'd talk about Harry with guests and family in her home, sometimes as if she _knew_ had become of him. But no one really knew the truth of what had become of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Then, last year, out of the blue, Ron and his brothers came upon Harry Potter as he was about to travel to Hogwarts for the first time! He had waited, breathless with anticipation, as the Weasley boy made his first overtures of friendship to Potter. He'd had some apprehension as well — Ron was never as gregarious and easygoing as his older brothers had been. Although, the small man admitted to himself, he was especially glad Percy hadn't given him to one of _them_ instead of his youngest brother! The things those two did in their room — the small man shuddered at the thought of being in the thick of _that_!

He hadn't learned much of use during the last school year. Potter talked a little about the house he lived in but never said _where_ he lived or much about what his family was like, except they weren't overly fond of him. He had been surprised when he received presents at Christmas, as if that were unusual. His aunt and uncle did send him some Muggle money, which he promptly gave to Ron, so it must not have been worth very much.

There had been a tremendous celebration at the end-of-year feast when Gryffindor was awarded enough points at the end to win the house cup. Then, the more important news, told by Potter to Ron and the Granger girl on the trip back to King's Cross — He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned! It had taken all he could do to keep from leaping about in the Weasley boy's pocket as he heard Potter tell his friends the Dark Lord was back! He had considered jumping ship then and there, and going off to find Malfoy or some other influential Death Eater and telling them the news.

But, no. There wasn't enough leverage in that one fact to ensure he wouldn't be killed in retaliation for what had happened eleven years earlier. He had heard enough in the short time between his trip to Godric's Hollow on Halloween night and his confrontation with Sirius a day later to know that Death Eaters were blaming him for the Dark Lord's defeat. He'd gone into hiding, trying to work out what he could do to keep track of current events; by chance, while trying to get into Diagon Alley to hide out at the Magical Menagerie, he came upon Arthur Weasley sharing an after-work drink some Ministry workers. He'd approached the group as a rat, trying to impress the men with his intelligence, and Weasley had taken a shine to him. Soon he'd found himself in the Weasley home and the present of a five-year old Percy Weasley. Not quite what he'd hoped for, but he'd made the best of it these past eleven years.

But a month ago he'd learned something, quite by accident, that had changed everything for him. He'd been snoozing on the back of a plush chair in front of a window in Arthur's study when the sound of approaching footsteps had awakened him and sent him scurrying for cover. Arthur and his wife had come into the room along with old Dumbledore himself, and the ancient wizard had sealed the room against every type of scyring and magical detection — except for a fat gray rat hidden under the desk!

What Dumbledore told the Weasleys was astounding. Potter had left the safety of his home, it seemed, simply because he was unhappy there. Foolish boy! Bolt-holes weren't supposed to be pleasant — they were supposed to keep you safe! Then — and here was where the details got a bit vague — two men had come and taken him away. They weren't even wizards, so the wards around the house hadn't worked on them. Such a simple solution! The small man shook his head, wondering why he hadn't seen it himself.

This turn of events had cast a jinx onto Dumbledore's pumpkin cart, apparently. He had come to Arthur and Molly with a rather unorthodox plan, to have Arthur impersonate Potter at school to keep the wizarding world from knowing he was no longer there. It was an amazing idea, the small man thought, one that perhaps only someone like Dumbledore could hope to succeed. But if the Map that Moony, Prongs, Padfoot and he had put together while in school was still around, it would be doomed to failure — one would be able to tell at a glance that the "Harry Potter" on the Map was really Arthur Weasley. It was one of the reasons they'd come up with the Map in the first place — old Snivellus liked to use Polyjuice to spy on them, disguised as someone else. The small man gave a feral grin — Snape never did cotton onto how they knew who he was beneath whoever's skin he was wearing! That had been the only potential flaw in his plan to pass himself off as the Weasley pet rat at Hogwarts — if anyone had seen his name on the Map the game would have been up. Thank Merlin Filch had taken it away from James before they left school! It was probably destroyed by now — the Squib caretaker had a low tolerance for magical objects and trickery.

This was still a risk, he knew — it made him shiver to his core to think what he planned. But opportunity had presented itself again a day or so after Dumbledore's visit, and he had scrambled to take advantage of it, when Moony had shown up at the Burrow's door requesting help from Arthur.

He'd considered stowing away in one of Remus's pockets as he left the Burrow, but that was _way_ too risky! He'd wanted to tag Remus with a tracking charm, but he'd have to become human to do that, and the wards on the house would have immediately identified him as an intruder. He'd have been found out and thrown into Azkaban once the facts came out.

The final option, the one he'd gone with, had been to run out past the wards of the Burrow, out into the orchard where he could hide among the trees, transform back to human, then transfigure a small piece of gum, from a twig. He'd put the tracking charm on _that_, then turned back into a rat and carried it back into the Burrow, where he waited for his chance to stick it to Moony's shoe.

The stupid cat had thought he was playing, and chased him as he was trying to get all this accomplished. He'd retaliated by biting the cat's tail, sending it yowling. And Moony had nearly stepped on him as he was sticking the gum to the heel of his shoe! He'd cussed the man roundly for that (though Remus only heard it as squeaking) then bolted from the room.

Since then, he'd remained hidden in Ron's room, afraid to follow the tracking charm to where Moony (and presumably the Potter boy) were located. He berated himself daily for his cowardice, but it was a huge thing to do what he was contemplating: to kill Potter, steal his wand and bring it to Lucius Malfoy for confirmation. They could bring it to the old wandmaker in Diagon Alley — he boasted he remembered every wand he'd ever sold. That should earn him, if not the praise of his lord's other followers, at least their tolerance. _And_ he would be out of the Burrow and human again!

Picking himself up off the ground, the short, fat man once known as Peter Pettigrew, now only known as Wormtail (or Scabbers), took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and Apparated for the first time in eleven years, toward London.

**=ooo=**

That morning, Remus was outside the front entrance of the Savoy, dressed in Muggle clothing provided by Remo; as it happened, the two men were about the same size and weight — Remo was six feet in height and about 160 pounds, while Remus was about six-foot-two and 170. He pulled uncomfortably at the slightly tight collar of the black polo shirt he was wearing, watching as people walked by the hotel, or in and out of it.

Dumbledore latest owl had requested a meeting this morning outside the hotel where he, Harry, Remo and Master Chiun had been staying the past month. Reason unknown, but Remus hoped he would get some answers about the failure of Harry's owl posts to get to his friends, and why Albus had never sent along the transcript of Sirius's trial.

As he waited Remus reviewed Harry's performance during their last lesson. He was already perhaps a quarter of the way through the second grade book of spells, showing an aptitude for charms and general defensive spells. He was much like his mother, Remus thought, in that she had excelled at Charms as well. He hadn't had Harry try any grade two Transfiguration spells so far, but he had no doubt the boy would do as well as his father had with them.

In fact, Remus realized, if he stayed with Harry much longer he would have to expand the scope of his tutoring greatly, to include the other subjects taught at Hogwarts: Herbology and Potions, Astronomy, and eventually Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Muggle Studies and History of Magic didn't require any true magical ability, so they could be dealt with on an as-needed basis, but Remus had no idea how he might tutor Harry in Care of Magical Creatures. He would have to cross that bridge when he came to it, then smiled, amused; that saying had a slightly different meaning in the wizarding world than it did when Muggles used it!

A sudden motion further down the street caught his eye and Remus turned to see Dumbledore standing at the corner, Muggles streaming past him as if they hadn't just seen a man appear out of thin air. They probably hadn't seen any such thing, Remus knew; he could feel the Muggle-Repelling Charm surrounding the Headmaster. Dumbledore looked around, saw Remus and nodded, then walked toward him.

Albus was dressed quite nicely for the meeting, Remus thought with some amusement, for a British gentleman from the 1940's — even with his flowing white hair and beard, he made quite a dashing, if outdated figure.

"Good morning, Remus," Albus nodded as he stopped in front of Lupin.

"Good morning, sir," Remus replied, with a slight bow that was half-respect, half-mocking. "You certainly came well-dressed today."

Dumbledore smiled wryly. "I thought I would come prepared, in case I was required to interact with hotel personnel." His eyes traveled over Remus. "Your clothing appears quite appropriate as well."

Compared to his normal shabby wizarding attire, Remus had to agree. "What did you want to meet about, Albus?" he asked crisply, wanting to get to the meat of the discussion quickly — the throngs of people milling around him made him uncomfortable.

Before answering, Dumbledore unobtrusively produced his wand and moved it in a familiar pattern — establishing a sphere of privacy around them. Even someone standing nearby trying to listen to them would hear nothing of what was said between them.

"I felt there were topics in your last owl that warranted us discussing them in person," Dumbledore began, putting away his wand. "I feel there are things you will need to be aware of if Harry continues to stay with the Master of Sinanju and his apprentice."

"I appreciate that, Albus," Remus said, sincerely. He did, too — he felt that Professor Dumbledore had always been straight with him in the past, beginning with giving him the opportunity to come to Hogwarts in the first place, even though he'd been infected with lycanthropy. "Where would you like to begin?" he asked, allowing Albus to lead the discussion.

"The owl posts," Dumbledore said immediately. "I do wish I could allow Harry to communicate with his friends, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, but I am afraid they would not understand the consequences of revealing Harry's absence from Hogwarts."

Remus grimaced. "I understand that, Headmaster," he replied, reverting to Dumbledore's title rather than his first name. "But you are isolating Harry from his friends. That was what Greyback tried to do with me. None of my friends were allowed to play with me after I was bitten. My parents and my immediate family were the only people I was allowed to see until I began attending Hogwarts. I don't want something like that happening to Harry."

"I see your point, Remus," Dumbledore said, sadness in his voice. "But there is little I can do while Harry chooses to remain away from Hogwarts and the protection of his home."

Which sounded a lot like blackmail, Remus thought, but kept that to himself. "What about putting that fact under a Fidelius Charm?" he suggested. "That way, they could correspond with Harry but couldn't tell anyone else about what he was doing."

Dumbledore was nodding thoughtfully. "That is an interesting proposal, Remus," he said, looking hopeful for the first time in a long while. "I shall seriously consider it."

"Good," Remus said. But he wouldn't hold his breath until he saw it happen, because of — "What about the transcript of Sirius's trial?" he asked, plunging into the next thing he wanted to discuss.

"Yes, that." The expression that crossed Dumbledore's face made Remus cringe inwardly. He saw a bad moon rising before him. Dumbledore confirmed it a moment later. "Remus, Sirius did not have a trial."

"What? Why?" Remus exclaimed, though he had felt in his bones that Dumbledore would tell him something like this. "You're the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus! How could you _not_ hold a trial for Sirius's crimes?"

The old wizard looked as upset as Remus felt. "There was every intention of doing so. The Wizengamot was quickly convened for just that purpose."

"Then what happened?" Remus demanded. "Why didn't you have a trial?"

"I'm afraid I allowed Barty Crouch too much control during the session," Dumbledore confessed, unhappily. "He was convinced Sirius was guilty due to the state he was in at the scene of the murders — laughing uncontrollably while standing ankle deep in the blood of the men he'd killed."

"Didn't you even _question_ him on why he'd been laughing?" Remus asked, horrified. "Didn't _Crouch_?"

"Sirius professed his innocence," Dumbledore replied. "He insisted that Peter, not himself, had become the Secret Keeper at the last moment, at his suggestion."

Which made some sense, Remus immediately realized. No one would suspect that Peter Pettigrew, who was a Marauder mostly to get James and Sirius to act as his protectors, would volunteer to be a Secret Keeper protecting James and Lily Potter. "Did you try to confirm that?" he asked sharply.

"With Peter dead at Sirius's hand, we could not," Dumbledore demurred. "Barty did not believe Sirius's claim _not_ to be the Secret Keeper. He said Sirius could simply _pretend_ not to be able to give the location of James and Lily's hiding place. And with Peter dead, Sirius would have become a Secret Keeper as well, so he would have been able to tell us the location."

Remus nodded slowly. That was true enough. But — "What about Veritaserum?" he pointed out. "That would have _forced_ him to tell the truth!"

"Barty did not believe it was necessary," Dumbledore said, in a small voice. "I wanted to use it, but he overrode me."

"What?!" Remus shouted, nearly loud enough to overpower the privacy sphere. "Dumbledore, that is _ludicrous_! _You're the damned Chief Warlock_! _You're_ in charge of the Wizengamot, not Barty Crouch!"

"Is there a problem here?" a new voice interjected suddenly, surprising both wizards. Remus turned to see Remo standing next to them. Somehow he had stepped _through_ the privacy sphere and was listening to their conversation!

"You shouldn't be able to do that!" Remus exclaimed. "How did you do that?"

"Vibrations, sweetheart," Remo said. "Like Chiun told you, everything has vibrations. I could feel the vibrations of some sphere around the two of you. I figured out how to listen for those vibrations, and now I can hear the two of you." He jerked a thumb toward Dumbledore. "This guy looks like the magician Chiun told me about, the headmaster of the school Harry goes to."

"I am Albus Dumbledore," the elder wizard introduced himself, his tone stiff. "I'm afraid you're intruding on a private conversation."

"If you wanted a private conversation you shouldn't be having it out in front of everyone," Remo pointed out. "I thought you and Chiun weren't going to meet again for another year."

"I am here to speak to Remus, not Master Chiun," Dumbledore answered.

Remo looked back and forth at the two wizards. "You two aren't trying to cook up some way to get the kid back, are you?" he asked, suspiciously.

"No," both wizards answered at once, then looked at one another.

"You _aren't_ here for that, are you?" Remus echoed the question. "I know you want him to come back to school, Headmaster…"

"I am not," Dumbledore declared, though the thought had crossed his mind several times in the past month.

"I wonder why I don't believe you," Remo muttered. "Look," he told the old wizard candidly, "I didn't know why Chiun wanted to talk to the kid. Frankly, his idea to train him was as much a surprise to me as it was to you. And I wasn't for it at first. For one thing, it's a rule that the Master of Sinanju only trains one apprentice at a time.

"But the kid isn't doing too bad, as apprentices to Sinanju go. He still hasn't got the breathing down yet, but Chiun thinks that a just a matter of time."

"So, you approve of your master's actions?" Dumbledore asked, slowly.

"I don't know," Remo shrugged. "I don't think it's going to work out, no matter how much Chiun tries to train the kid. Sinanju isn't something you can just give to someone." He pointed to his own chest. "It's something you have to find already inside you, wanting to get out. That happens with maybe one man in a million."

Dumbledore and Remus were both staring at him. "I hope you are wrong, Remo," Remus said, sincerely. "Harry is trying really hard to find the Sinanju inside him, and he's not even sure what it _is_."

"It is death," Dumbledore spoke unexpectedly. He gave Remo a penetrating look. "Sinanju brings death. I have learned over the past month that you are assassins, trained killers for hire. That is not what Harry is."

"Really?" Remo turned to the old wizard. "How do you expect him to off this Moldyvort character you told him about without _killing_ him? Isn't that what you're asking him to do? Kill?"

"It was prophesized," Dumbledore said, defensively, "Harry would have a power the Dark Lord knew not, a power that I believe will help to defeat him."

"Couldn't that power be Sinanju?" Remus interjected, looking at the two wizards.

"I believe it will be love," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort has never known love, has never experienced it in his life. He was an orphan."

"So was I," Remo said. "But the nuns who raised me loved me. I guess they did, at least — they were supposed to love everyone," Remo muttered, looking at his knuckles, which had felt their share of whacks from rulers wielded by the nuns at St. Theresa's Orphanage.

"Regardless," Dumbledore said dismissively. "I am forced to concur with Mr. Pelham — Harry should not waste his time trying to learn something that may be well beyond his capabilities. He should ret—"

"Hold!" Remus said, suddenly frantic. "Someone just entered the wards I placed on Harry's room!"

"Who?" Remo instantly asked.

"I don't know!" Remus cried. "We need to get up there immediately!"

"Remus! A Portkey!" Dumbledore said, holding out a small object that was suddenly in his hand — it was a Chocolate Frog, in fact.

Remus's wand was in his hand and he touched the Frog with tis tip. "_Portus_," he said urgently. "It will take us there in five seconds!" Remo was staring uncomprehendingly at the funny shaped piece of chocolate. Remus grabbed his hand, pushing it against the Frog as one of his fingers touched it as well. "Just do it!" he snapped as it seemed Remo would pull away. "It will be any —"

The Portkey activated and the three of them disappeared into a whirling miasma of swirling lights and whooshing winds.

**=ooo=**

Wormtail moved cautiously toward the Savoy, a large group of elegant stone buildings that took up nearly an entire city block.

The tracking spell had brought him here, though it had taken him several hours to Apparate from Devon to London. He couldn't travel very far at one go, and he'd had to rest after three or four Apparitions. Lying around for eleven years in the comfort of the Weasleys home and the dorms at Hogwarts had left him in less than good shape, physically. Probably better shape than Sirius Black was at the moment, he reminded himself, if he was even still alive in his cell in Azkaban!

He was wearing a Muggle suit that was a bit too large for him. He'd Imperiused the Muggle who'd been wearing it, forcing him to exchange clothes. The clothes he'd had on had been with him for eleven years; they'd transformed with him when he'd become Scabbers, along with his wand. In his rat Animagus form he hadn't noticed or cared what state his clothes were in, but once he'd become human he saw how shabby they were. They wouldn't do at all in a place like this — he needed to blend in with the Muggles, not stand out like a sore thumb! And the suit he was wearing was gray; the color felt quite natural to him on some level.

He needed to find a way inside, and the obvious first choice was the front entrance. However, as he approached the front of the building he saw a man suddenly appear at the corner in front of him — Dumbledore! Here, of all places! The old wizard walked toward the front entrance; as he peeked around the corner, Wormtail saw him approaching Moony. So he was in the right place, but he dared not walk in the front entrance lest he be recognized by the two men.

Or he would be, if he tried to enter as a human, as Peter Pettigrew. But in his other form…

Wormtail leaned back out of view, flattening himself against the side of the hotel and wondering if he dared do what he was thinking. It was risky — if someone noticed him there would likely be shouting or screaming; Muggles reacted more emotionally to rats than did most wizards. But he had looked for other ways inside, ways a rat might use, and found them blocked or smelling of rat poison. He had made himself quite familiar with Muggle ways of pest extermination; they were a constant danger as he roamed the alleys and sewers of the Muggle world, back when he had just left Hogwarts.

He could see no other way short of climbing to the roof and finding an entrance somewhere up there. That was safer than what he planned now but it would take too long. Remus was away from the Potter boy — he would never have a better opportunity than now!

Wormtail steeled himself and concentrated for a moment on his Animagus self. In a moment he felt himself transform into his rat-form. He peeked around the corner again, seeing Moony and Dumbledore still talking, this time within a sphere of privacy. Good. They would be less likely to notice him if they were within the bubble of isolation. Scabbers rounded the corner, staying close to the side of the building. He moved in fits and starts, stopping by each colonnade along the wall, using them as cover. In less than a minute he was close enough to the two wizards he could sense the Muggle-Repelling Spell Dumbledore had cast on himself. He might have done that as well, but the spell was much less powerful in his rat-form; a disadvantage, just as the form was an advantage when it came to ward spells designed for wizards not noticing him.

He slipped by the two men, making for the doorway. People were going in and out, bustling around him. Fearful of being stepped on, Scabbers waited for a lull in people using the revolving door. That would be tricky to navigate, he realized, but it had to be done.

He waited until a group of people went inside, then leapt in front of the moving door as the last one entered. The door swept him along, and he rolled to one side as it cleared the side wall, out of the path of people coming in behind him, then ran for a nearby wall and moved along it to find an empty alcove where he could become human again, unnoticed.

After that it was relatively simple. He walked over to the front desk, where a row of clerks were assisting people in checking into and out of rooms. One clerk on the end, a young man, walked over to where he stood. "May I help you, sir?"

"You may," Wormtail smiled. "_Imperius_!" The clerk's expression went blank. "_Tell me which room Harry Potter is in_," he ordered.

"I don't know," the clerk said, blankly.

"_Well, go find out_!" Wormtail said, irritably. Such a bother, having to tell these Muggles what to do!

The young man turned to look at some kind of box that had word and numbers on it Wormtail didn't understand. He drummed his fingers on a flatter box in front of the other box. He looked up a few moments later. "There is no Harry Potter registered in the hotel, sir," he said in a flat tone.

Wormtail sighed, exasperated. "Then how about a Remus Lupin? _Find him_!"

The clerk nodded and turned back to the box. He looked back a few seconds later. "Remus Lupin is in room 1811, sir."

"Good," Wormtail said. He pointed his wand at the young man. "_Forget you ever saw me or that you looked up the names Harry Potter and Remus Lupin. Go about your business as usual_." The clerk nodded and turned away.

He headed toward the lifts, selecting the 18th floor. He would have to hope that Moony's room was close to Harry's. A few Muggles stepped into the lift behind him and he stiffened, then pretended to nod affably at them, hoping they weren't headed to the same floor. Thankfully (and luckily for them), they weren't.

When the lift opened on the 18th floor Wormtail transformed into the rat once again, just in case Moony had left wards guarding Harry's room. It would be like him, Wormtail knew — the man was obsessed with keeping tabs on everyone who might come near him. It was all part of his werewolf paranoia and self-loathing.

As he moved down the corridor one of the doors suddenly began to open. Scabbers scrambled toward the nearest wall, then watched warily as an elderly Oriental man came out into the corridor. "I will return in an hour, young Harry," he said, "after watching my beautiful stories. We will find Remo and have some rice and fish."

If it was possible for a rat to smile, Scabbers was grinning from ear to ear. That was a stroke of luck! he thought to himself, unless "Harry" turned out to be somebody else. Which would be just too bad, because he wasn't planning to leave any witnesses, no matter how many people, Muggles _or_ wizards, he had to kill to get to Potter. He began creeping closer to the room the boy was in.

**=ooo=**

_An hour earlier:_

Chiun and Harry sat facing one another in Harry's room. The Master of Sinanju had informed Remo earlier that Harry's breathing lesson would take place in his room today rather than theirs; the boy would feel more at ease in own room, and Chiun believed this would help him achieve the control he needed.

"Fine by me," Remo had shrugged. "Your soap's recording," he added, noting the special video recorder was on and the RECORD light was lit.

"I will watch it after Harry's lesson," Chiun said, serenely. He rose from the writing desk where a number of his Sinanju scrolls had been opened for reading. "Do not disturb my writings," Chiun admonished as he moved toward the door.

"Don't worry," Remo muttered. "I'll stay as far away from them as possible."

Chiun paused at the door, a long-suffering look on his wizened face. "Do not forget, Remo," he warned the younger man. "Someday all of the wisdom of Sinanju's history will be yours to impart to an apprentice of your own."

"Whoopie," Remo said with fake enthusiasm. "So I'll be able to tell him all about Master Ko, who forged the Sword of Sinanju, or Master Kim the Bamboo-Hatted, who used his hat to catch fish. Or Master Nuk the Unwise, who learned to get the money up front before he did the job. Or Master Lom, who managed to strangle himself with his own jewelry in front of Nebuchadnezzar. Or Master Ding, who worked for Alexander the Great until the Sultan of India hired him to kill the kid." Remo shook his head. "I don't know how you expect me to remember all that crap, Chiun."

"I don't," Chiun said. "That's why I have it all written down for you. Heh, heh."

"Yeah," Remo groused. "In Korean."

"How are you ever going to improve yourself if you don't aspire to being Korean?" Chiun asked as he left the room. The door closed behind him. "Heh, heh, heh."

"I heard that," Remo said.

Chiun went next door to where the boy awaited him and knocked quietly on the door. He heard Harry slide off the bed and walk over to the door, practically stomping as far as Chiun was concerned. After correct breathing was achieved, he reminded himself, control would come. The boy would succeed — how could he not, when he had defeated the demon?

The door opened and Harry stepped back to allow the Master of Sinanju into his room. "You have been practicing your breathing exercises?" Chiun asked, already knowing the answer. The boy's breathing had not changed at all since yesterday.

"Uh, a little," Harry said, sitting down in front of Chiun. He didn't want to disappoint the old man but he wasn't doing any better with his breathing than he had a week ago. His magic, on the other hand, had been steadily improving for the past month. Remus was an excellent teacher, much better than Quirrell had been — in fact, Harry thought Remus was the best teacher he'd ever had, Muggle or magical. He was _much_ better than Snape, for example. Even better than Professor McGonagall, whose classes were informative but tended to be dry and uninteresting unless a student accidentally transfigured a toothpick into, say, a quill rather than a needle. Harry liked Professor Flitwick as well but he thought Remus was more in touch with his students than the elderly Charms professor.

"You must learn to center your breath," Chiun said, which by Harry's estimate was the 50th time Chiun had told him that. "All of Sinanju begins in the correctness of your breath. The great Master Wang meditated for five days and nights before he was able to breathe correctly."

Harry resisted an impulse to roll his eyes. Chiun said the same thing _every single time_ they practiced his breathing! He'd actually gotten more benefit out of the thing Remo did during his first lesson, where he pushed all the breath from Harry's lungs so he could breathe in completely fresh air. That had felt good, Harry remembered. He'd tried to imitate it during the past month, but he couldn't force enough air from his lungs to make it work.

"I'm trying," Harry said stubbornly.

"You should not 'try' at all," Chiun admonished. "The more you _think_ of doing a thing, the more you interfere with your body's natural ability to perform it." Chiun reached forward, putting a long fingernail against Harry's chest. "Stop _thinking_ of it and simply _do_ it."

Harry looked at the old man thoughtfully. Chiun had never put it to him quite like that before. Maybe that was his problem. When he did magic with Remus he was concentrating on many things: the correct pronunciation of the spell, the wand motions he had to make, and the _intention_ of what he was trying to achieve. If Chiun was right, that wasn't how you should approach Sinanju at all.

Harry stopped trying to concentrate on correct breathing. It just had to flow naturally out of him, just like you did when you breathed normally. You didn't think about breathing normally, you just did it. It was only when he paid attention to how he was breathing that he realized he wasn't breathing normally anymore. Harry took a slow, deep breath.

"No." Chiun's fingernail was against his chest. "Do not think. Breathe."

Harry nodded, trying to empty his mind. It was hard not to think about what he was doing, though. He breathed in and out, trying to find that place in his mind where he was _doing_ without _thinking_.

It still wasn't easy. It was like — like something Hermione said once, an old wizard adage she'd seen in some book that said that the wizard that could see a unicorn without thinking of its horn would become rich soon. Of course, the first thing you did when you saw a unicorn was to think, "I mustn't think about the horn." Which of course spoiled your chances of becoming rich!

_If only Remo was here_! Harry thought as he kept at the exercise. If he could get Remo to do that thing again with his chest, he might feel good enough to keep doing it on his own. Chiun had already refused to do it several times now. And Harry couldn't do it to himself — he couldn't reach around and push against his back and his front at the same time.

But maybe — _maybe_ — there was a way he could imagine doing that without having someone doing it to him for real.

Harry took a deep, deep breath, expanding his ribs and lungs until they began to ache. Chiun had told him a goal of Sinanju was to expand the lungs so they carried more oxygen to the bloodstream. He held his breath a long time, until they hurt even more. Then he imagined Remo's hand going under his sternum and _pushing_ the air from his lungs. He began to cough.

That hadn't worked too well.

But the idea was right, he was certain of that! All of Chiun's fingernails were now against his chest, as if he was listening to Harry with them instead of his ears. Harry tried again, repeating the exercise as he'd imagined it. He didn't cough this time but there was still no difference in how he felt.

And again. And again. It still wasn't working but that was no reason to give up. Harry kept doing the exercise over and over, hoping something, _anything_ would happen the next time he tried.

But it wasn't.

The touch of Chiun's fingernails left his chest. "I must go," Chiun said, rising slowly until he was on his feet again. Harry's eyes had been closed; now they opened to stare at the Master of Sinanju.

Harry stood as well. "You're leaving already?" he said, disappointed. "We just barely got started!"

"It has been over an hour," Chiun said, gently. "Please continue practicing." He walked to the door and opened it, anxious to watch his beautiful dramas. Stepping through, he stopped and turned back inside for a moment. "I will return in an hour, young Harry," he said, "after watching my beautiful stories. We will find Remo and have some rice and fish." With a nod he closed the door and was gone.

Harry was chagrined but determined to keep on practicing. He sat down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to find the state he felt he'd almost reached before Chiun left. Inhale, exhale, inhale again. He still wasn't feeling the rush of fresh air like he had that first time, with Remo.

He knew what the problem was — he was upset Chiun hadn't stayed with him to watch, that he'd rather watch his stupid soaps than help Harry learn to breathe. He had to put that out of his mind. Harry breathed in and out several times.

His mind went _clear_ rather than blank. Air filled his lungs, but the sensation was as if it filled _all_ of him — his arms, hands, legs, and feet. His back bone seemed to disappear — it felt neither ramrod straight nor crooked, as if he was slumped to one side. He felt like he was floating for a moment even though the bed was still there below him, pressing against his bottom.

He felt right.

Paradoxically, Harry didn't even wonder whether this was what correct breathing felt like. It _was_ correct, to him. He let the breath go out of him naturally, not even feeling himself inhale again. He exhaled, not _thinking_ about it, but simply _doing_ it.

Outside his door, a small gray rat stopped and looked up at the door handle far above him. It would be locked, of course, he thought. That meant for this last part he would have to become Wormtail again so he could cast an unlocking charm on the door. He would have to move fast after that — if Moony had a ward on this room he would know a wizard had entered. That would give him only seconds to kill the boy, take his wand, run back into the hallway and Apparate away. He would find Malfoy, show him Potter's wand, and announce that the Dark Lord had definitely returned.

Scabbers hesitated a moment, fearful of failure. He had to push that aside. He would _always_ be a failure unless he pushed himself to succeed. Squeaking, he stood up on his hind legs and willed the transformation to occur. A moment later Wormtail stood before the door, pulling out his wand and silently mouthing _Alohomora_. The lock clicked and he turned the handle, moving inside.

The Potter boy was sitting on the bed, legs crossed and eyes closed, like he was in some kind of meditative trance. Perhaps that was best, Wormtail thought — it was kinder in a way, if the child never saw the spell coming that would end his life. He raised the wand, pointed it at Potter, and said clearly, "_Avada_ _Kedav_—"

There was a wrench, and Wormtail staggered and fell to his knees. _What happened_? he wondered dazedly. Did the spell misfire? He brought up his wand arm, to look at his wand.

His wand was missing from his hand. Worse, his _hand_ was missing from his wrist! Wormtail gaped at the bloody stump at the end of his arm where his right hand should be. Frantically, he turned to look on the floor for it. But there was only a red robe next to him. He looked up.

The small, ancient-looking Oriental man he'd seen leaving the room earlier stood beside him. In his hand was Wormtail's hand and wand. "I remember you, shape-shifter," the old Oriental said, with a penetrating stare. "You were rummaging through the Potter home when I entered to find the boy. You took the demon's wand and ran away before anyone else came."

He had no idea what demon the old man meant. "I — I — d-didn't see you," Wormtail whispered, horrified he'd been caught — and by a Muggle!

"I did not wish you to see me, rat-man," Chiun said. He looked momentarily toward the boy. "You tried to hurt Harry."

"N-no!" Wormtail shook his head, holding up his hands (well, one hand and one stump) up pleadingly. "Please — mercy!"

"I told the headmaster of Harry's school that I would see the hand that tried to harm Harry when it reached toward him, and that hand would never harm anyone again. And neither will you." Chiun's right hand was suddenly on Wormtail's nose, pressing it back into his head, dislodging the nasal bones from their location at the top of the nose and driving them back into his brain.

Wormtail slumped over, dead, his nose no longer making his face appear pointed.

Harry opened his eyes at that moment. He had been so deep into his breath meditation that he had heard nothing until the thump of the body on the floor shook the bed slightly. "What's —" he stopped, gasping as he saw the man lying on the floor and Chiun standing over him. "Master Chiun! What happened? Who is this?!"

"Someone who will never bother you again, child," Chiun answered.

Two loud thumps outside the door signaled the arrival of Remus, Dumbledore and Remo, the first two landing on their feet with the ease of many such transports. Remo, who had never traveled by Portkey before, nevertheless landed without a sound.

"Intruder!" Remus shouted, then did a double-take as he saw Chiun standing over a body as Harry looked on. "Well … never mind, I guess."

"Uh-oh," Remo groaned. He gave Chiun an aggrieved look. "Did he disturb you during your shows?" he asked the elder Master of Sinanju.

"He was about to harm Harry," Chiun said matter-of-factly. "And _yes_—" his voice acquired a definite kvetchiness. "He did this while my beautiful stories were on." Chiun pointed an accusing finger at Remo. "You are supposed to make sure things like that don't happen, Remo!"

"I was busy refereeing a fight between these two," Remo said, pointing to Dumbledore and Remus.

"We weren't fighting," Remus disagreed. "We were talking —"

Dumbledore, however, was more concerned about Harry and the body. "Are you alright, Harry?" he called out, as Harry jumped off the bed and walked toward them.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said. "But what are _you_ doing here —?"

"Trying to prevent something like this," Dumbledore said, his voice becoming stern. He looked disapprovingly at Chiun. "Was it necessary to kill this poor man in cold —"

"Merlin!" Remus suddenly swore. "It's Peter!"

"What?" Dumbledore stared at the face of the corpse. "Ah. So it is. Fascinating, considering Peter has been thought dead these past eleven years."

"Do you realize what this means?" Remus said, staring at the headmaster.

"_I _do," Remo complained. "I've got another damn body to get rid of!" He glared at Chiun.

"Do not blame me if you are lax in your duties, Remo," Chiun admonished.

"It _means_," Remus went on despite the interruption, "that Sirius did not kill Peter like everyone thought! That can't be someone Polyjuiced to look like him since you _can't_ use Polyjuice to impersonate someone who's _dead_!"

"That is true," Dumbledore agreed, heavily. "But what about the Muggles who died?"

"I think this warrants an investigation into what actually happened on that street in London eleven years ago," Remus said, heatedly. "You owe that to Sirius, Dumbledore! You _failed_ him before, when you let Crouch and Bagnold send him to Azkaban without a trial! If you _don't_," he added, determinedly, "I'm going to the _Prophet_ and the _Quibbler_, all the major magical newspapers, and expose the entire thing!"

"That will not be necessary, Remus," Dumbledore said, wearily. "I find myself now wishing to see justice done as much as you do. I really believed that Sirius was not like the rest of the Black family — I am glad to see that my belief was not in vain, as I originally thought. I will discuss an investigation with Rufus and Cornelius."

"Good." Remus seemed mollified. "That is all I ask, Headmaster."

Harry was staring down in awe at the body of Pettigrew, especially the severed hand. "Chiun, how did you do that?" he asked, mightily impressed.

"This is what you are striving for," Chiun said, pointing to the body. "Sinanju teaches the ultimate in life and living. When you learn it, you will be able to do this and much more."

"To kill people?" Harry looked surprised. "Is _that_ what Sinanju's about? Chiun, I'm not sure I want to _kill_ people."

Chiun grimaced. "We do _not_ 'kill people,'" he said, firmly. "A car, improperly driven, kills people. Red meat, eaten regularly, kills people. We are professional assassins. Professional assassins restore harmony to emperors, restore faith in monarchies, and brings about a more peaceful harmony to the entire community."

Harry looked at him oddly. "It sounds like you're saying being a professional assassin is like a service to the community."

Chiun smiled. "Assassination, _professional_ assassination, is the highest public service we can offer the world."

"Okay," Harry said, "Well, at least I think I've got the hang of breathing now."

Chiun smiled. "Ah! _That_ is what is different about you! Congratulations!" His expression went neutral again. "Next we will work on your balance."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Is that all?" he said. "Just, 'congratulations, next we work on your balance?'" He looked upset.

"It's more than I got, kid," Remo muttered, _sotto voce_. "Be happy you got that much." Harry shrugged, his anger turning to resignation.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke. Harry looked at him. "Do you wish to return to Hogwarts instead of continuing with this — this Sinanju, a murderer's art?"

Chiun looked at the old wizard sharply. "Have a care, o wizard. Sinanju does not endure insults lightly."

When Chiun did not continue Harry spoke up. "No, sir," he said to Dumbledore. "I think I want to continue. I've learned how to breathe properly — Master Chiun says the rest should come more easily now that I've figured that out."

"I see." Dumbledore hid the sigh that threatened to tumble out of him. "Very well. Remember that you are always welcome should you wish to return. I will have a talk with your aunt and uncle, impress upon them the importance of treating you with more respect, more caring —"

Harry's expression had gone stony. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said firmly. "I won't go back to them, _ever_, even if I do decide to come back to Hogwarts."

"But they are your family —"

"They never treated me like family," Harry interrupted. "Not once. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs for ten years before that first letter came! They never fed me enough, while Dudley kept eating until he was a big, fat pig! Nobody ever called me by my name — I was always 'boy' or 'brat' or some other awful name!" All the abuse that had been heaped upon Harry over the past ten years was spilling out of him. "These men —" Harry spread his hands to include Remo, Chiun and Remus, "Men I never even _knew_ until a few weeks ago, have been nicer and kinder to me than my own flesh and blood ever was! And you want to send me _back to that_?" Harry shook his head emphatically. "I say NO."

"Hear, hear!" Remus said loudly.

"Very well, Hary. I understand your reticence," Dumbledore said, sadly. _Plan B it is, then_, he thought to himself. "Remus," he said to Harry's tutor, "I will keep you appraised of news regarding Sirius. Perhaps you will consider taking an O.P. box at the Owlery in Diagon Alley."

Remus smiled. "An excellent idea, Albus, thank you for suggesting it."

Remo was looking confused. "I've heard of a P.O. box," he said. He nodded toward Chiun. "He's even got one in Massachusetts. But what's an 'O.P. box'?"

"An Owl Post Box," Remus explained. "You can send an owl there and the message will be held by the Owlery or forwarded to the recipient's current address."

"Oh," Remo grunted, with a shrug.

"Then I shall take my leave of you." Dumbledore bowed and started to leave, but—

"Hold on a minute," Remo said. He pointed to the body of Wormtail. "What are you gonna do about _him_?"

"Ah." Dumbledore tapped his forehead in chagrin. "How forgetful of me! I suppose I should take him to the Ministry as proof that Sirius Black didn't murder him." He tapped the body with his wand, murmuring "_Portus_," then levitated it in the air and put a hand carefully on Wormtail's chest. As an afterthought he took the severed hand and stuffed it into one of the coat pockets. The man's wand he slid into his inside coat pocket. "Farewell," he said to Chiun and Harry, adding, "I will see you again in one year." The Portkey activated and Dumbledore and Wormtail's body disappeared in a flash of whirlwind colors.

"Well," Remus sighed. "That's that for another year." He walked into Harry's room. "I'll get this blood out of the carpet." He pointed his wand at the stains and they vanished.

"Thanks," Remo said, gratefully. "It'll be nice having someone around who can remove blood and — stuff — as easily as that."

Remus gave him a disconcerted look. "How often do things like this happen?"

"Not very," Remo said, straight-faced. "Once a week or so, tops."

"My word!" Remus blanched. "Master Chiun is _that_ violent?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Remo disagreed. "He's pretty easy-going, most of the time." He gave a small shrug. "Except when his soaps are on. And that's only a few hours a day, most of the time. The rest of the time he's a pussycat."

Chiun and Harry had gone into Remo and Chiun's room. Harry was still mulling over what he'd learned about Sinanju that day. "I don't know what I think about this assassination thing," Harry was saying. "I mean, didn't Voldemort assassination my parents?"

"Of course not." Chiun looked outraged. "You cannot compare those brutish killings with the subtleties of professional assassination."

"Why not?" Harry challenged. "My parents are just as dead whether Voldemort killed them, or —" he gestured toward Chiun "— or _you_ did!"

"Harry," Chiun said softly, "I would never have assassinated your parents." _Unless the price was right_, a voice in his head added, unbidden. He banished the thought immediately. "You were but a child then, an infant. I would not take your parents from you."

"Would you have sent me with them?" Harry wondered, glumly.

"We of Sinanju do not harm children," Chiun stated firmly. "The Master of Sinanju ply their trade so that the babies of our village need not be sent home to the sea. To harm a child would be a disgrace. Even the Great Wang was disgraced for a score plus ten of years because he allowed a child of the village to drown while he was entertaining guests in his home and did not hear the cries for help."

"I don't think I can kill people," Harry said, shaking his head.

Chiun folded his hands in front of himself, thinking. An assassin that would not assassinate was as useless as a teat on the back of a bull. Yet the prophecy of Sinanju must be fulfilled — Murugan, the son of Shiva, must destroy the demon Tarakasur lest he vanquish the gods themselves, including Shiva.

"I will not ask you to kill," he told Harry. "I only ask that you learn to kill, then decide for yourself if it will ever become necessary or not."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that. "I dunno. Won't learning to be an assassin be the same as _becoming_ one?"

"Because you _can_ do a thing does not mean you _must_ do it," Chiun said.

Harry nodded, seeing some truth in this. "I guess you're right," he said. "I guess I can learn Sinanju even if I never use it on anyone."

"Excellent!" Chiun beamed.

"What's excellent?" Remo, just coming into the room, asked.

"I have a solution to the dilemmas you presented me with," Chiun said. "Two solutions, actually."

"Which ones?" Remo asked. "I've presented you with so many I've lost track."

"First, we are ready to return to America, as Harry has learned to breathe correctly now."

"Good," Remo nodded. "Smitty will be glad to hear that. He's got a list of jobs for me as long as his arm, he says. What's the other problem you've solved?"

"That a Master may train only one apprentice at a time."

"Huh. So what's the solution?" Remo asked.

"_You_ will train Harry," Chiun announced. "I will assist, in the likely event you prove inadequate for the job."

"Wait a minute," Remo shook his head. "That's not in my job description."

"It most certainly is," Chiun disagreed sternly. "It is the duty of _every_ Master of Sinanju to train his successor."

"Oh?" Remo raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that I'm a Master of Sinanju now?"

"I am saying it is your duty to train Harry," Chiun said stubbornly. "Perhaps someday you will rise above your barely adequate performance to become a Master of Sinanju worthy of teaching others. Perhaps."

"Gee, Chiun, thanks for your support," Remo groused. He looked at Harry. "I guess it's me and you, kid."

Harry beamed at him. "Good! You know that thing you did, where you pushed all the air out of my lungs? I was using that idea today to help me figure out how to breathe properly!"

"Oh, really?" Remo said, smiling smugly at Chiun. "See? I'm good at teaching already."

"Beginner's luck," Chiun retorted. "Let's see how well you do for the next 30 years — I can only hope that Harry does not turn out to be a barely adequate pale piece of pig's ear because of you."

_Thirty years_? Harry thought, wryly. Voldemort could be dead of old age by then! Still, things worked out okay. Remo would train him in Sinanju and Remus would tutor him in magic. And he didn't have to kill anyone if he didn't want to. That was the important part!

On the bad side, Ron and Hermione had never owled him _once_ in the past month; they never even responded to his owl posts. Remus hadn't said anything about it, either. Harry had to come to the conclusion that they were mad at him for some reason.

_Well_, he thought vindictively, _if that's the way they want it, I can do that, too_! He would send no more letters to Ron, Hermione, Hagrid or anyone, not until they owled him first! And if they were leaving for America, he probably wouldn't be able to send owls anyway — he doubted any owl could fly that far in one go.

Harry folded his arms stubbornly, but there was a part of him that was sad about how things had turned out with his friends. Another part of him wondered how bad they would feel when he didn't show up for the Hogwarts Express on September first. Then he shrugged and went back to his room to do his breathing exercises. Time would tell.

**Author's Note: If you know someone who'd like to read a new Harry Potter/Destroyer crossover story, let them know about **_**Created, Harry Potter**_**. As always, reviews, both laudatory and critical are appreciated. **


	4. Many Happy Returns

.

**Chapter Four**

**Many Happy Returns**

_First updated 8/8/2014 _

_Last updated 8/22/2014_

**=ooo=**

_31 July 1997  
__Charing Cross Road, not far from the Leaky Cauldron_

Harry appeared in the alley adjacent to the Leister Square Station on Charing Cross Road a few minutes before noon, beneath his Invisibility Cloak to avoid attracting attention. An international Portkey tended to create more of a disturbance than ones from one city or state to another — some wind noise and swirling colors were unavoidable. He landed with the easy sureness of a wizard used to traveling in such a manner, looking around to make sure no one was nearby who might accidentally bump into him.

The alley was clear. After making sure no one on Charing Cross Road had taken notice, Harry took off the Cloak, folded it and put it into his pocket, and walked out of the alley. He was dressed comfortably, wearing blue jeans and a black polo shirt, with black Italian loafers and socks. He turned northward, toward the Leaky Cauldron, and set out on the short walk to the wizards' pub. Once there, he would pass through to the courtyard behind it, then into Diagon Alley proper.

It had been several years since Harry had been home. In fact, he hadn't been in Britain since he'd left in 1992, five years earlier, not long after he'd met Remo and Chiun. Harry had been in Diagon Alley one time before, on a birthday that day as well, as it turned out — his eleventh, the day he learned he was a wizard. Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, had brought him a letter inviting him to come to Hogwarts and learn magic. Afterwards, they had come to Diagon Alley to buy his school supplies, buy his wand, and Hagrid bought him his owl Hedwig as a birthday present.

He wouldn't even be back in Britain now except that Remus, who a week ago had left New York to come to Britain to file the paperwork so Harry could take his N.E.W.T.s before the end of the summer. Before he'd gone, Remus had asked Harry to meet him in Diagon Alley at noon to celebrate his birthday.

Of course, Harry wasn't going to have any ice cream or cake — the fat and sugar would make him sick — but Remus still enjoyed an indulgence every so often, despite Harry's warning what that stuff would do to his arteries.

With his N.E.W.T.s out of the way, Harry would be a fully qualified wizard according to the British Ministry of Magic. There was nothing special about obtaining the certifications, so he wondered if perhaps Remus had something else he wanted to say to him out of Chiun and Remo's hearing. Harry smiled at that thought; if they wanted to, he knew, both Remo and Chiun could be following him right now and he wouldn't be able to detect them unless they let him, or he used his magic.

The shops he passed along the way were mostly restaurants, Muggle pubs and groceries, places usually teeming with customers, but today the street seemed somewhat empty. Harry himself was the only person walking along this part of the road, even though it was the middle of a rather nice day.

Not that Harry paid much attention to the weather anymore; it just didn't matter to him now. Hot or cold, he could regulate his breathing and body temperature to stay comfortable. If it rained, he could put an Impervius charm on his clothing to keep the rain from sticking.

No less than he had noticed the changes to Charing Cross Road, Harry himself had changed in the past five years. When he'd left Britain, just before he turned 12, Harry had been a short, scrawny kid with unruly black hair and round, black glasses that, before he'd begun attending Hogwarts, were more often broken than not. Now, he was about the same height as Remo, just around six feet tall, and his black hair was styled with a grooming charm in the same nondescript cut Remo usually wore. He no longer wore glasses, instead using Sinanju techniques to keep his vision almost 20-20. He moved with the easy loping grace of a prowling tiger (or lion, he kept insisting to Chiun, since he still and would always consider himself a Gryffindor).

As he walked he pondered what Remus might tell him during their meeting. He suspected it would be something about sitting his N.E.W.T.s — which was good, Harry decided; he was ready to be done with them. Not that he wanted to see Remus leave, he told himself! The past five years with the ex-Marauder, the smartest wizard of his year at Hogwarts, had made his magical training quite enjoyable as well as educational. He had taken his O.W.L.s two years ago in June, after a year of school and three years of tutoring — a year earlier than most Hogwarts students sat them, and Remus had told him that Harry had surpassed his own scores.

The bigger question was, of course, just what he would _do_ once he'd gotten his N.E.W.T.s. While he was at the end of his formal magical training, barring specialized apprenticeship with a wizard like Dumbledore, whose training Remus had told him could catapult Harry into some very esoteric realms of magical knowledge, he was barely begun as an apprentice of Sinanju, being only five years along in his training. Although, he remembered with a smile, Little Father had told him that he was nearly as good as Remo had been when he was ten years along in _his_ training.

Of course, there was still a gap between him and Remo, as his big brother had over three decades of training under Chiun. It would be some time before Remo considered Harry a Master of Sinanju. At his present rate of progress, Harry estimated he would be where Remo was now in about 15 more years, if he was diligent and kept up his training.

He stopped where the record shop and the bookstore made themselves bookends, staring between them for a moment at the small, shabby shop front with an old, wooden sign hanging over it saying _The Leaky Cauldron_. He had been inside the place only once, on his way to Diagon Alley on his eleventh birthday, but it had taken ten minutes to make it through as every witch and wizard in the place pushed and jostled one another in their determination to shake his hand; some of them came back more than once! Harry remembered old Doris Crockford, Dedalus Diggle with his top hat, and —

And Professor Quirrell. Harry hadn't known at the time, of course, that the man was possessed by Voldemort. He was wearing the turban when Harry first saw him, so he was probably possessed even then. But the man had been so — well, so timid and frightened, and Hagrid, who was accompanying him had been so dismissive of him that Harry wouldn't have suspected anything even if he'd known then what he knew now about Voldemort.

What had made his first and only year at Hogwarts less than perfect, Harry decided, the person who had given him the worst time during that first year was— well, it was a toss-up, really. Harry smiled grimly to himself. Snape or Malfoy, both of them had been pretty awful to him. He'd been mostly alone then, with Ron Weasley as his only friend for months, until Halloween night and the troll made him and Ron friends with Hermione Granger. That had made the first year more bearable, especially at Christmas when he'd gotten the first real Christmas presents ever in his life. He smiled again, happily this time, remembering them and the other times he, Ron and Hermione had been together —in class together, studying together, or just _talking_ together.

His smile faded a bit as he thought about what had happened with those friendships once he left Privet Drive. Nothing. Nothing at all. He hadn't heard a word from them, not even after Remus finally got fed up with the warding spell Dumbledore had placed on him and found a way to cancel it. He had stuck to his guns and refused to owl them first; they had never answered any of his previous owls to them, even though Remus believed Hedwig would have gotten through to them.

Dismissing that depressing thought, Harry walked into the pub only to find it nearly empty. The old, balding bartender, whose name Harry no longer remembered, looked up at him hopefully, but Harry shook his head slightly and pointed to the back of the pub, where the door to the courtyard linking it with Diagon Alley stood. The bartender shrugged, resigned, and went back to uselessly wiping down the bar for the hundredth time that day.

Harry took a very small breath, and immediately resolved not to breathe again until he was in Diagon Alley proper. The room stank of alcohol, stale sick and a number of odors better left unidentified. He walked into the courtyard, realizing as he did that he didn't remember what Hagrid had done to summon the archway they had walked through. Well, that wouldn't be a problem.

Harry put his hand on the wall above the dustbin, searching for the magic that activated it. It was an old technique Remus had taught him, one he said he had learned from Dumbledore himself. He felt along the wall until he came upon the trigger: tapping a certain brick in the wall would open the arch. Eschewing his wand, Harry gave the brick three taps with his finger.

The brick quivered, then wiggled — it slid back into the wall as other bricks around it began rearranging themselves. In moments the wall had turned into a tall, wide archway; over its center was a sign that said,

**Diagon Alley**

in old-fashioned script. Harry stepped through, smiling as he saw the cauldron shop on his immediate left. It hadn't changed a bit, as far as he could remember, except that the shop was empty at the moment. It was a trend Harry was to find was quite common throughout the rest of Diagon Alley, with some notable exceptions.

Diagon Alley did not seem nearly as bustling and busy as Harry remembered from the last time he was here. Most of the shops, instead of having windows displaying cauldrons, spellbooks, potion ingredients or other magical devices, were covered in purple posters showing the Ministry of Magic logo along with advice on security measures. The street itself was nearly empty, making Harry wonder what was going on to keep the place so quiet. He continued along the gentle curve of the street, wondering when he would come upon Remus, when he found himself standing in front of what had been an ice cream shop. Fortescue's, the nearly faded sign over the door said. From the look of the place there had been quite a fight. Windows were cracked or shattered, burn marks scorched the cobblestones leading up to the door, and the tables and chairs in front of the shop were scattered about, broken.

Seeing this sort of thing certainly wasn't what Harry had expected for his homecoming! He would have to find out what was going on, what had caused this decline in business in London's magical marketplace and the need for security. Without looking behind him, he was aware that Remus was coming toward him from further down the street, dressed in a deep blue wizard's robe and leather boots.

"Ah, there you are, Harry," Remus said, stopping alongside him. "I was surprised to find it like this, too."

"Hi, Remus," Harry said, absently. "You don't know what all this is about, then?"

"There's a small café further down the street," Remus said, nodding in that direction. "It's not as nice as Fortescue's was, but it should do." He held up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "I think I can explain what's going on once we're there."

The café was a nondescript little hole-in-the-wall with a couple of tall, narrow tables in front of the shop. Remus gestured at one of them, where a cup of tea and a small sandwich were already on the table. There was a glass of water on the other side of the table. "I took the liberty of ordering for you," Remus said, with a small smile. "Water, room temperature."

Harry grinned. "I suppose I'm predictable that way." Harry only drank water when he and Remus ate together. He took the seat opposite Remus, watching as his tutor took out his wand and set up a privacy spell. "So what's going on?"

Remus slapped the paper down on the table between them. "A lot more than I expected, Harry, I'm sorry to say." His expression was a mixture of chagrin and regret. "I should have paid more attention to what was happening here. These last few years with you, Chiun and Remo have been very busy, very exciting for both of us, you know."

Harry agreed with a nod. In the five years he'd been with Remo and Chiun, Remo's assignments had taken them across the American continent and around the world, to Europe, Africa, Asia and South America. On the rare occasion when Harry and Remus didn't travel with Remo and Chiun, they stayed in Rye, New York and worked exclusively on Harry's magic.

Harry took a sip of his water. "It can't be that bad, can it?" he asked, knowing as he spoke that the way things happened in magical Britain it was likely to be even worse.

Remus's face was grim. "Well, for starters, Voldemort is back."

"He was back when we left," Harry reminded him.

"He was little different than a ghost back then," Remus replied. "Since then, he's managed to regain his body and has been terrorizing wizarding Britain for the past two years." Remus gestured to include Diagon Alley. "Wizards are afraid to walk these streets for fear of Death Eater attacks. The Ministry has put up warnings — I'm sure you saw them as you came in — telling everyone to stay inside after dark and to work out code words to recognize your friends and family in case Polyjuice is being used."

"How did Voldemort regain his body?" Harry wanted to know.

"Details are vague." Remus took a moment to sip at his tea. "Whatever happened, Cornelius Fudge was sacked over it back in early July of 1996."

"I never met the man," Harry said, evenly. "But Hagrid told me a bit about him. He didn't seem to think much of Fudge."

"He had his flaws," Remus agreed. "According to the _Prophet_, though Voldemort regained his body in late June of 1995, the Ministry didn't acknowledge he was back until a year later, during which time Dumbledore was removed as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump." At the mention of Dumbledore Remus looked up at Harry, pain on his thin features. "I'm — I'm afraid I have more bad news, Harry. Dumbledore is — dead."

"Dead?" Harry gasped at that unexpected revelation. He'd believed on some level that Dumbledore would outlive even Little Father. "How?"

"There was only a passing reference to his death in the paper," Remus said, his voice halting and subdued. "But it looks like he was killed by — Snape."

"Snape," Harry repeated, his voice going low and dangerous. "I always knew he was rotten, no matter what Professor Dumbledore told me."

His birthday was rapidly turning into a disaster. Harry stood. "We should get out of here, find someplace I can get a bite," he said. "Maybe that little Korean place we met in, do you remember it?"

Remus nodded, smiling and standing as well. "Right," he agreed. "Perhaps I can get you some rice cakes for your birthday," he quipped.

"Har-de-har," Harry retorted. "I may as well eat cardboard."

"Oh, I'm sure Sung's could make you a _real_ rice cake," Remus went on, milking the joke. "You know, steamed brown rice just the way you like it, pressed into a cake form, with a candle stuck in the top."

"I'd rather eat the candle," Harry deadpanned.

Remus chuckled and took a pouch out of his pocket; Harry winced as he realized he'd forgotten to bring any wizarding money with him. Remus must have guessed what he was thinking because he said, "Your meal's on me today, Harry." He dropped ten Sickles on the table, plus a couple more for the server.

They began walking toward the archway. "How much time do you have before you have to be back in America?" Remus asked as they walked.

"It's seven a.m. there, so I've got a few hours before my training with Chiun," Harry answered. "Remo's off on an assignment."

"I assume you're still doing well with your Sinanju training," Remus commented.

Harry nodded, with an eye roll. "Remo reminded me the other day that once I become an adult Chiun is going to have him step up my training. He said Chiun thinks I'll be as good as Remo is in only 15 more years." He shrugged. "Remo thought Chiun was just trying to get him to step up his own training even more."

"How good is Remo?" Remus asked. Before Harry could answer, he added, "I mean, I know he's trained a lot longer than you have — over 30 years now."

"Almost 35," Harry amended. "As for how good he is, well… CURE, the super-secret organization Remo works for —" Harry rolled his eyes in irony "— always wanted to know how close to full capacity he could operate at, given that Chiun is 100 percent. Since Remo became the Reigning Master, I'd says he's around 110 percent these days."

"Do they know where you are on that scale?" Remus wondered.

"Somewhere between 45 and 50 percent, Chiun estimates," Harry said.

"After only five years?" Remus beamed at his student. "I would say that was remarkable if it wasn't for the fact that in five years you've achieved N.E.W.T.-level standing for all of the major areas of the British magical curriculum. The only thing left is for you to take your theoretical and practical tests for your N.E.W.T.s." Remus scratched an ear, a wry expression on his face. "And, well, that leads me to another bit of unpleasant news."

Harry stopped walking. "Great," he said sourly. It seemed like everything was going wrong so far today! "Now what?"

But before Remus could answer, Harry felt one of his personal wards activate: several wizards were Apparating into the vicinity. A moment later Remus reacted as well. "Several people just Apparated into Diagon Alley," he said, surprised.

"I felt it," Harry concurred. "That's against protocol, isn't it?"

Remus nodded. "It's a long-standing tradition that you don't Apparate directly into or out of Diagon Alley. There are supposed to be Anti-Apparition wards maintained by the Ministry, but now that I think about it I don't feel anything active."

Harry jerked a thumb toward the archway. "You better get out of here, Remus," he said, moving in the direction of the new arrivals.

"Hang on." Remus was frowning and hadn't moved. "What are _you_ going to do?"

"I think I'll have a look," Harry said softly, then suddenly he wasn't there anymore.

Remus looked around. Harry hadn't Apparated, hadn't used any magic at all, but he'd moved in a way that the older wizard wasn't able to detect. Remus heaved a sigh. One day earlier and he could have ordered Harry to leave with him and Harry, still being underage, would have obeyed. Now that he was an adult, however…

Remus's wand moved into his hand and he gestured briskly, placing a Notice-Me-Not spell on himself. If Harry thought he was going to miss out on whatever was happening, he was very mistaken.

Deeper in Diagon Alley, six men in black cloaks and hoods, wearing masks in the shape of a skull on their faces, emerged from Knockturn Alley onto the main street. The goblin doorman at nearby Gringotts, seeing them, scowled and stepped inside the large bronze doors of the bank, closing and locking them. The masked men stopped at the mouth of the street, looking around slowly, as if to issue a challenge to anyone who might wish to resist them. Then the tallest among them gave a short nod. "Begin," the voice rasped beneath the mask, and mayhem began. Blasting Curses shattered shop windows and signs, Cutting Curses made deep scores in stone and ripped apart storefront tables, chairs and display cases. The few people that were on the street screamed and scattered, running inside buildings or toward the archway. Killing Curses were shot after them, hitting one witch who dropped in her tracks.

Beneath his mask, the Death Eater who has cast the Killing Curse smiled in cruel satisfaction. The next moment, he suddenly dropped to the ground and remained there, unmoving. One of the other Death Eaters, seeing him fall, waved his wand at the body. "He's dead," he said loudly to his fellows, over the noise of exploding spells. "His heart's stopped! Did anyone see who did it?"

"Are you joking? Everyone's running away," another Death Eater laughed, pointed toward the witches and wizards fleeing from them. "They know better than try to stop us!"

"Not everyone, Death Eater," a voice whispered in his ear, and the man gasped as there was a sudden pressure at his shoulder. His wand dropped from his hand and his arm dangled, useless. The Death Eater staggered, holding his arm, and the others spun toward the young man who had somehow come up behind them unnoticed. As the man moved away Harry's toe tapped his back near the spinal column and the man collapsed to the ground, unable to move his legs.

Harry waited as two Death Eater wands swung toward him, anticipating when the spells would erupt from their tips. The first spell, a Stunning Charm, shot past Harry's head and slammed into the Death Eater next to him, who had just cast a Reductor Curse at him. Harry twisted his body slightly, letting the Reductor slip past him to impact on the first Death Eater, who exploded into red mist. At the same moment he plucked the wand of the stunned Death Eater from his hand as he fell, using it to slap a third Death Eater's wand from his hand before he could use it. At the same time his left foot shot out, catching the fourth Death Eater in the solar plexus. The Death Eater fell over backwards with a gasp, curling himself around his abdomen and vomiting violently.

The disarmed Death Eater, realizing he was wandless, turned and bolted back up Knockturn Alley. Harry watched him a moment, gauging his retreat and what his response should be, then tossed the wand, impaling the man in the left shoulder. The Death Eater cried out in pain and fell onto his face, then scrambled to his feet, moaning, and disappeared into the darkness.

The man Harry had attacked first was trying to crawl away using only one arm. Harry stopped him with a wandless Stunner, just strong enough to put the man out for a few minutes until the Aurors arrived.

Remus, who had made his way cautiously back up the street through the fleeing shopkeepers and patrons, ran up, looking at the Death Eaters lying in the street. "Harry, did you just beat four Death Eaters single-handedly?"

"It was six," Harry corrected him. "I let one escape into Knockturn Alley. I figure he'll report back to Voldie, let him know attacks like this aren't acceptable."

"Did you kill these men?" Remus asked, worriedly. Harry's attitude toward killing had changed over the past five years. He'd been adamant against killing anyone when he first began training in Sinanju; the death of Quirrell, even though he'd been Voldemort's minion, had weighed heavily on him. But since those first days, as he'd become more and more proficient in the art of Sinanju, he'd become more and more inured to death. He had not yet killed, he had told the older wizard before Remus left for Britain, but the idea was no longer repugnant to him.

"No," Harry said. "I thought about it, but I decided my birthday present to myself was going to be to wait one more day before I start taking anyone out. Which reminds me —" Harry bent over the first Death Eater, the one who had collapsed after killing the woman, and put his hand on the man's chest. He compressed the chest a few times, restarting the heart. "There," he said, standing again. "One of these clowns took a Reductor to the chest." He pointed to the reddish residue covering the nearby cobblestones. "That's him all over," Harry quipped, not feeling the least bit sorry the man had died.

Remus was thinking quickly. "You'd better leave," he told Harry. "You shouldn't be seen here. I'll explain when I return to New York," he added when Harry looked at him inquiringly. Harry stared at him a long moment, then shrugged and walked away, suddenly gone from Remus's senses, just as he'd done a few minutes earlier.

Aurors would be here shortly, Remus knew, to pick up the pieces of the Death Eater attack and assess the damage done and lives lost. Thanks to Harry, only one person had died and these four Death Eaters would be taken into custody today, but for now Remus didn't want to explain what had really happened here. The less they knew about the real Harry Potter the better. He would tell the Aurors that the Death Eaters had inexplicably attacked one another, vaporizing one of their number and rendering the others unconscious, while a sixth one had escaped back into Knockturn Alley. They would question him closely, no doubt, in no small part due to his Dark status as a werewolf, but an examination would show that he'd been taking Wolfsbane Potion regularly, in compliance with recent wizarding laws granting werewolves more freedom if they kept their lycanthropy under control. He slipped his wand back into its holder and moved away, to pretend he had just come upon the scene, when the Aurors arrived.

**=ooo=**

_Rye, New York  
_ Harry appeared in the backyard of Remo's house, the Portkey returning him to his point of departure. Even though there was a brief flash of color and whoosh of wind from the Portkey, Harry landed silently, as expected of him as an apprentice of Sinanju. There was a frown on his face as he approached the patio door that led into his bedroom.

He'd obeyed Remus because the man had been his tutor and his magical mentor for five years, and he was almost as close to him as he was to Remo and Chiun, the men who were teaching him Sinanju and who had rescued him from the Dursleys, for which he would be forever grateful. _But_, he hadn't wanted to run away from the mess he'd made, even if the Death Eaters had started it.

He waved his hand at the patio door and it unlocked, sliding open to let Harry pass through, and he sat down on the edge of his bed, feeling sulky. Even if the Aurors, the wizarding world's equivalent of the police, hadn't liked what he'd done to the Death Eaters, he hadn't killed any of them; he'd have been well within his rights defending himself and others from their attack.

Lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn't immediately notice when the door to his room quietly opened and Remo put his head in. "Happy Birthday, kid," he said warmly, and Harry looked up in surprise, then smiled at his teacher.

"Thanks," he said, trying not to let his bad mood show. "I didn't think you'd be here."

Remo stepped into the room. "Finished my assignment yesterday," he said. "Caught the first flight home." He smiled at Harry. "I wanted to be here for your birthday."

Some of Harry's bad mood evaporated. "Thanks," he mumbled, both touched and a bit embarrassed by Remo's remark. "Funny," he nodded toward Remo. "I wanted to be where _you_ were, on assignment."

"Smitty gets cranky when he hears I've got kids running around with me," Remo remarked dryly. "Whether they're mine or not."

"How are they, by the way?" Harry asked. Remo rarely mentioned his children, Winston and Freya. Harry knew almost nothing of their backgrounds other than Winston was in his early 20's and Freya was going to be 13 soon.

"Good," Remo said, and nothing more. "So, how'd breakfast with Lupin go?"

"Good," Harry said, then smiled and said nothing more. Two could play that game.

Remo looked like he'd expected Harry to say more, but when it became evident he wouldn't , said, "Chiun is preparing something special for your birthday."

"Let me guess," Harry muttered. "Rice and duck."

"Steamed jasmine rice," Remo amplified. "You love that stuff."

"_Chiun_ loves that stuff," Harry laughed, losing the rest of his bad mood. Of course what Chiun loved, he and Remo were supposed to love as well, even though Remo didn't care much for duck.

"Anyway," Remo went on. "We're eating at 10 a.m. today, so you should do your Sinanju exercises early. I'll see you then."

Remo started to close the door, but Harry spoke up. "I used the Thunder Dragon Blow this morning." Remo looked at him with some surprise.

"That blow stops the heart," he said, impressed that Harry had used it. "Does that mean you —"

"No," Harry admitted. "I revived the person afterward, but I wasn't doing him any favors. The place he's going will make him wish he was dead before he's been there more than a day." Remus had told him about Azkaban Prison, where Sirius had been sent back in 1981. According to Remus being in there was a thousand times worse than being dead. "I'll do my exercises and be ready to eat by ten."

Remo nodded and started to close the door again, but stopped once more. "Did you tell Lupin he was invited as well?"

Harry grimaced. "No, I forgot," he said, chagrined.

"Too bad," Remo said, with a shrug. "Chiun wants to hear how well you've been doing in your voodoo studies." He winked as he said the last few words; Harry smiled at his older brother's teasing.

"Maybe he can still come," Harry said. _Though I don't know how long the Aurors will keep him with their questions._ "I can let him know."

"That'll work," Remo mumbled, nodding and closing the door. Harry got the impression Remo didn't care one way or another whether Remus joined them. He still referred to Remus as "Lupin," never by his given name. Harry suspected it was because their names were so similar, and Remo had refused to give up his first name when he went to work for CURE. He'd used dozens of identities over the past three decades, and most of them were named Remo something: Remo Pelham, the name he'd used when Harry first met him. Remo Bardwell, Remo Slote, even Remo Schwarzenegger.

Well, that was Remo's problem, Harry decided. He walked out of his room into the hallway, then down the stairs that led to the basement, which had been converted (at considerable expense and to Smitty's horror at the bill, Remo delighted in telling him) into a Sinanju training area. It wasn't quite a "Danger Room," a high-tech training area from one of the comic books Harry enjoyed in his meager free time, but it had some pretty interesting (and dangerous to those untrained in Sinanju) obstacles.

Harry started with the Thrower. This was a mechanical arm that could toss small items at blinding speed — in some cases they came at you faster than a .22 long rifle round. The objects used varied — hard rubber balls, flat discs that could dip, rise or fly off in unexpected directions, small steel balls and even throwing knives. Harry dodged the first dozen throws easily, even as the Thrower varied the speed of its projectiles and the part of Harry's body it aimed for.

With round one finished, Harry upped the stakes by activating two Throwers, each of which acted independently and randomly so Harry could not establish a pattern between them. The second round was more difficult because Harry also had to dodge ricochets.

This continued with a third round that added another Thrower at a different position, so that objects were coming at Harry from three sides. This was where things got interesting as Harry had to incorporate three random throwing machines into his pattern. With this many objects in the air he was allowed to use them against each other, so he amused himself tapping discs or ball bearings as they whizzed past him, deflecting them into one another to alter their trajectories and momentum.

After four rounds Harry got bored and decided to ditch the last two rounds of the exercise, heading instead to the Tank. The Tank was a cylinder set into the floor of the training room, filled with water about 12 feet deep and about six feet in diameter. The water was normally kept at about 40 degrees Fahrenheit and served the dual purpose of training for both breath and temperature control. A normal human could only survive about 15 to 30 minutes in such water; at Harry's current level of training he was expected to stay under for at least an hour.

Taking off his trainers (he didn't want to ruin them, a nice pair of Nikes) but no other clothing, he set the timer for one hour and slipped into the cold water, settling to the bottom in a lotus position. In an hour he'd have just enough time to shower, change, and go upstairs for his birthday "party."

Sitting at the bottom of the Tank with nothing but time on his hands gave Harry time to ponder just what bad news about his N.E.W.T.s Remus hadn't had time to tell him. He expected the worst it could be was that he'd be expected to come to the Ministry to take his practicals. Two years earlier, the Wizarding Examination Authority had insisted that any non-Hogwarts student who wished to take their O.W.L.s do so at a Ministry-conducted examination. They had held the theoreticals and practicals in northern France after the Hogwarts O.W.L.s in Britain were done.

It was probably just as well that he hadn't had to go to Hogwarts for his O.W.L.s, Harry decided, especially since he had long since figured out, and Remus had confirmed that, Dumbledore had used the hair he'd gotten from Harry the night he tried to "rescue" him from Chiun and Remo to have someone impersonate him at Hogwarts for the past five years. At least that was Remus's hypothesis about why Dumbledore had wanted a lock of Harry's hair.

He should be furious at Dumbledore for that, but Harry couldn't work up the energy to be angry now that Dumbledore was dead. What he _was_ furious about was that Snape had killed the Headmaster! Even though Dumbledore denied it, Harry was sure Snape had been working for Voldemort. If he had to go back to Britain for his N.E.W.T.s, Harry decided, he was going to find Snape. And Snape wasn't going to like what would happen when they met again.

When the timer buzzed Harry pushed off the floor of the Tank, rising to the surface and out of the water, slipping out of his wet clothes. He walked silently to the shower room, rinsed off, then dried himself and wrapped a towel around his middle, knowing that Little Father would have a fit if he saw Harry running around the house with no clothes on. Chiun was very modest, and he expected the same modesty from Remo and Harry.

Back in his room, Harry quickly put on a pair of black chinos, a black T-shirt, and put his Nikes back on with a fresh pair of socks. It was about five minutes until ten so he went downstairs to the living room, waiting to hear Chiun call him and Remo into the dining room. Remo was already there, doing his own exercises: a one-finger stand and "jumping-jack," where he bounced up and down a dozen times on one finger, varying from index to pinkie finger on each hand. On his last bounce, Remo put both hands at his side and let himself fall until his hair just touched the floor, then flipped end-for-end so his feet silently met the floor. "Hi again," he said, seeing Harry watching him. "How'd your exercises go?"

"Fine," Harry said, sitting down on the sofa to wait.

Remo nodded and sat in a nearby chair. "Did you get in touch with Lupin?" he asked.

"No," Harry remembered, and took a small mirror out of his pocket. Remus had given him the mirror a few years ago; it let them communicate quickly over long distances. "Remus," he said into the mirror.

His reflection remained in the mirror, however, an indication that Remus couldn't reply at the moment. "Tell Remus that he's invited to my birthday party at Remo's house," he said to the mirror. "We'll start around ten o'clock New York time." He put the mirror away and looked at Remo. "Hopefully he'll hear that in time to show up."

"I'm sure he'll want to come to your party," Remo told him.

"Yeah, because we're real party animals around here," Harry muttered. Remo chuckled.

"Ready," Chiun's singsong voice came from the kitchen. Harry and Remo both stood and walked into the dining room. Four places had been set with bowls and chopsticks. They took seats opposite one another, on either side of the head of the table where Chiun always sat.

Chiun entered carrying two bowls: one filled with steamed brown jasmine rice; Harry could smell the jasmine aroma, though it would be unnoticed by anyone not trained in Sinanju, and a bowl of steamed duck. He set both bowls carefully on the table and slipped into the head chair. "Remus is not here?" he asked, disappointment in his squeaky voice.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Remo said cheerfully, giving Chiun a short, pointed look. He reached beneath the table and brought out a wrapped present, handing it to Harry. "Many happy returns."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking the gift. He deliberately avoided using the mass and weight distribution of the present to determine what it was, and simply unwrapped it. Under the wrapping paper was a small, plain box, dark blue; inside that was a single key, for a car.

Harry couldn't help grinning foolishly at the key. "Is this what I think it is?" he asked, holding it up for both of them to see.

"No," Remo smirked. "It's a toothbrush, smart-ass." He broke into a grin. "It's outside." He jerked a thumb toward the front door. "Want to go see?"

"Sure!" Harry started to jump up, but Chiun put up a hand to stop him.

"It will still be there _after_ we eat," he said, sternly. "I have not slaved over a stove all morning only to have the two of you run off to let my food grow cold."

Harry settled back into his chair, disappointed, but he looked at Remo as Chiun took his bowl to prepare it. "It's a Mustang, right?"

"Yep," Remo nodded. "A GT. And it's a convertible."

"Cool," Harry beamed. "Those are the _best_."

"The best deathtrap money can buy," Chiun muttered sourly, setting Harry's rice and duck in front of him and taking Remo's bowl.

"Little Father," Remo said, exasperated. "It's just a car. And it's not even _your money _—"

"It is the Emperor's, no doubt." Chiun slammed Remo's bowl down before him.

"I used my own money to buy it," Remo countered, picking up his rice and duck as Chiun fixed the last bowl for himself. "Harry's been wanting one for a year now." Harry nodded agreement with that; he'd fallen in love with the Mustang the first time he'd seen one after coming to America.

"Would you give Harry a _steak_ if he wanted one?" Chiun snapped. "Or a hamburger, reeking of meat juices and fat? I do not think so."

"That's not the same thing at all!" Harry protested. "A car's not going to kill me —"

"I am not worried about the car," Chiun overrode him. "I am worked about the hordes of imbecilic drivers out there, who have not a single care for either their lives or the lives of those around them. It is they who will crash into you."

"I know how to drive defensively, Little Father," Harry said, rather petulantly. Chiun was worse than the stereotypical Jewish mothers he had seen on television. "No one's going to crash into me."

"Children your age believe you are invincible," Chiun kvetched, holding his bowl of jasmine rice and duck. "You do not understand the dangers that are out there in the real world."

Harry rolled his eyes. "How many missions have I been on with you and Remo?" he asked, pointedly. "You realize how much death and destruction I've seen in the past five years, don't you?"

"Not enough to understand how unpredictable the world is, evidently!" Chiun snapped in reply.

"Come on, Chiun," Remo spoke up. "You've gotta give the kid _some_ credit. Look how far he's come with Sinanju in just the time I've been training him."

"_We've_ been training him," Chiun corrected. "You have been off working for the mad emperor Smith far too much."

Remo shook his head. "He's come _with us_ most of the time!"

"And then you would run off to do the emperor's bidding, requiring me to do your job," Chiun countered.

Remo threw up his hands. "I give up," he growled. "Harry, eat your food and we'll go have a look at your new car —"

"Remus is here," Harry said suddenly, looking toward the front door.

"He has been here for some time," Chiun interjected. "Listening to Remo carp about my reasonable caution concerning Harry's safety."

"Blow it out your hiney," Remo muttered.

The door opened slowly and Remus looked in, cautious. "Nice car out here," he said, carefully. "Who's is it."

"Mine," Harry said at once. "Come in, Remus." He hoped his tutor's arrival would put an end to the bickering between Chiun and Remo. He grabbed the bowl from Remus's setting and began filling it with rice. "Have a seat, you're just in time for my birthday meal."

"Thanks," Remus said, taking his seat. He, Remo and Chiun watched as Harry added a few pieces of duck to the bowl and set it in front of the older wizard. He stared down at it. "It looks scrumptious," he said, managing not to make a face as he did so.

Chiun scowled at him but said nothing, for once.

"So how was England?" Remo asked, trying to start a different conversation before Chiun began griping again. "Get everything squared away for the kid's tests?"

"Well —" Remus looked over at Harry, who had paused, chopsticks in hand with a clump of rice between them, to hear what his tutor had to say. "No, not exactly."

Remo didn't look pleased to hear that. "What do you mean?" he rumbled.

"The Ministry has turned down Harry's application to sit his N.E.W.T.s after the Hogwarts tests are given," Remus said, unhappily. "I should say, they turned down Rajas Homer Pretty's application." That was the name Remus had used, an anagram of Harry's full name _Harry James Potter_, to apply for the exemption to practice magic out of school. "The Ministry is making everyone sit their N.E.W.T.s during the Hogwarts examinations, next June. They say they don't have the resources to hold them at any other time, due to the increased security measures required."

"So I have to wait almost a _year_ to take my N.E.W.T.s?" Harry complained. "Bollocks!"

"Don't the magical schools here have similar tests?" Remo asked.

"They do," Remus nodded. "In fact, there are tests being held at the Salem Institute, in Massachusetts, August 25 through 29, that meet the International Confederation's standards for full qualification. Harry could take those and be considered a fully-qualified wizard anywhere in the world."

"Except for Britain, right?" Harry muttered, unhappily.

"Er — that's true," Remus admitted, quietly. The British Ministry doesn't recognize any educational authority except its own. He was a bit surprised Harry had found that out on his own — the Ministry tended to keep that unflattering bit of information to itself.

"Which means," Harry said to Remo and Chiun, who were both looking inquiringly at him. "If I want a N.E.W.T.-level job anywhere in Britain, they won't even consider me unless I take the Hogwarts N.E.W.T.s."

"Why does that even matter?" Chiun asked. "You will not need magic — you will have Sinanju."

"Which you and Remo are teaching me so I can deal with Voldemort," Harry reminded him. "Or — Taraka-whatever, the death demon, if you prefer."

"Tarakasur," Chiun corrected. "Yes. You are the only one who can defeat him, Harry."

"Except you, of course, Little Father," Remo added.

"Even that is uncertain," Chiun disagreed. "The prophecy was clear that only Murugan's avatar or Murugan himself would be capable of defeating Tarakasur."

"And after Tarakasur's dead — then what?" Harry wanted to know.

Chiun looked puzzled. "What do you mean, my son?"

"I mean," Harry went on, ignoring the familial reference, "what do I do when I've defeated the death demon? Do I become the Reigning Master of Sinanju?"

"Remo is the Reigning Master," Chiun said, as if that should be obvious. "You will be his apprentice until he decides to retire."

"Which could be another 60 or 70 years from now," Harry retorted shortly. "I think I'd like to have something to do in the meantime."

"You _will_ have something to do in the meantime," Chiun said, still looking perplexed. "You will be Remo's apprentice, just as he was mine. There will be much for you to do!'

"That's true," Remo drawled. "I'll need someone to schlep the 20 trunks of crap I'll carry with me all the time. I'll need someone to clean up the dead bodies that pile up in my wake. I'll need someone to listen to the 15,000 line Ung poems I write. I'll need —"

"Enough, Remo," Chiun said, giving him a withering look. "You exaggerate greatly. I only use 14 trunks when we travel these days."

"Whatever," Remo waved a hand in dismissal. "My point is, I don't need the kid following me around if he doesn't want to. If he wants to go back to Britain and work there, I say more power to him! Besides, you'll be back in Sinanju at your own house, enjoying your golden years."

"You joke, Remo," Chiun carped, "but the years past 100 _should_ be simple and restful, not filled with foolish missions for the mad Emperor Smith."

"Little Father," Harry said seriously, and the eldest Master turned to him. "I _do_ appreciate what you and Remo have given me. Sinanju has made me see things much more clearly now; I was pretty naïve when I was a kid — I didn't think anyone deserved death. What I saw this morning in Diagon Alley confirms what you've been telling me for years: some people do deserve death, and being a professional assassin is the greatest public service we can offer."

Chiun nodded, filled with pride that Harry had finally taken his words to heart. "I am pleased to hear that, my son," he said, gently. He gestured to the food before him. "Let us forget our differences for now, partake of this feast and then go for a ride in your new car."

Remo, Harry and Remus all beamed at one another.

"Oh," Chiun added, pointing at Remo. "_You_ are driving, by the way."

**=ooo=**

_1 August 1997  
__Headmistress's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Minerva McGonagall, the newly-installed Headmistress of Hogwarts, sat in her office sipping morning tea and looking over the events of the previous day as reported in the _Daily Prophet_. Beside her on the desk was a very large, very old book, bound in silver and hippogriff hide; it was the book in which the Quill of Acceptance wrote the names of wizarding children born in Britain. The duty of notifying those eligible to attend Hogwarts each year nominally fell to the Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress, but Minerva had only been approved as the Headmistress a few days ago by the governors of Hogwarts — she hadn't yet decided whom to name as her deputy, so it fell to her to prepare the letters for all the students who were eligible to attend starting September first.

Her attention returned to the article in the _Prophet_ of the attack in Diagon Alley the day before. Six Death Eaters, according to eye witnesses, had appeared and begun hurling curses, damaging several buildings and killing one person. Witches and wizards had fled before the men, hiding in nearby buildings or running for the archway leading to the Leaky Cauldron.

But something about the attack had gone awry, the article continued. For unknown reasons the Death Eaters had turned upon one another, killing one of their number — Minerva shuddered at the thought of being hit by a Reductor Curse — and rendering the other four unconscious. A sixth Death Eater had escaped into Knockturn Alley, one eyewitness reported. She scowled as she read the names of the captured Death Eaters; she remembered all of them as former students of hers. And not all of them had been in Slytherin, the House responsible for many Death Eaters, both during the first war with You-Know-Who, and this one.

The Death Eaters were becoming much bolder, Minerva realized, especially now that Albus was — _gone_, she forced herself to say to herself. Turning, she gazed at the portrait of the former Headmaster mounted behind her desk, the place on the wall reserved for the immediate predecessor to the post. Albus sat there in his ornate Headmaster's chair, his head drooped upon his chest in slumber. _He has earned his rest_, Minerva thought sadly.

Unfortunately, he had left them with quite a few loose ends to tie up. Horace had agreed to stay on as Potions professor, so that was sorted, at least for the next year, but they currently had no one for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, now that Snape had finally shown his true colors by killing Albus.

Gilderoy Lockhart was still in the St. Mungo's spell damage ward, Minerva thought, grimacing distastefully, but she wouldn't have that man back on a thousand-Galleon bet, even if he was in his right mind again. The year after that Dumbledore had convinced Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt to be the DADA teacher, with Fudge's approval, but the year after he'd been sent on an undercover mission to France and was unavailable. Albus's old friend Alastor Moody, an ex-Auror, had taken over as the Defense instructor but that had turned into a disaster that cost the life of one of the Tri-Wizard Champions, Cedric Diggory, along with the revelation that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, which Fudge and the Ministry refused to accept despite both Albus and Harry Potter insisting it was true. In fact, Fudge had been so upset at what he viewed as Dumbledore encroaching on his authority as Minister that the year after he sent his Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, to teach the Defense position as well as spy on Dumbledore, the staff and students. It had been such a relief to see that maddeningly bigoted and irritating woman leave! Minerva thought.

Last year had been the worst, even worse than the year Cedric died. With no prospects for another Defense professor, Albus had finally given the job to Severus Snape, hiring Horace Slughorn to replace him as Potions Master. Snape had done a decent job, though he still coddled the Slytherin students and treated the other Houses with contempt. What had been unknown at the time was a plot to allow Death Eaters access to the school. They had found a way in by June, just a week or so before school was to be dismissed for the summer holiday, wreaking havoc within the school, and Snape himself had murdered Albus, escaping afterwards. He was now rumored to be hiding out somewhere in northern England; perhaps in Cokeworth, the town of his birth, although searches of the town by Ministry Aurors had turned up nothing of his whereabouts.

But even worse than _that_, Minerva continued with her unhappy recollections, their one, shining hope for the future, the very person Albus had been so desperately trying to protect for the past six years, had also tragically died that terrible night. Even now, over a month later, an involuntary sob escaped her throat as she thought that awful truth:

Harry Potter was dead.

He had apparently been on the Astronomy Tower with Albus when the Headmaster was killed, though why the Death Eaters who had cornered him had not killed Harry as well was unknown. Harry had chased the Death Eaters from the Tower, following Snape and the others toward the Hogwarts gates, when a Killing Curse had caught him full in the chest. They had found Harry and Dumbledore's bodies afterwards; Dumbledore at the base of the Astronomy Tower, while Harry was found about halfway between the front doors of the school and the front gates. A memorial service for Harry was held the day after Dumbledore's, with most of the school attending. They had placed Harry's body in a small, white tomb near Dumbledore. Minerva herself had given the eulogy, managing not to break down until after the memorial was over and she was alone. Harry's friends had been there — Hermione Granger, one of his closest friends, along with Ron and most of the other Weasley siblings, including Fred, George, Charlie and Bill, and Ginny as well. Neville Longbottom was there as well, along with Oliver Wood, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, and students from other Houses: Luna Lovegood and Cho Chang from Ravenclaw, Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, and surprisingly, Draco Malfoy from Slytherin, along with Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, though they seemed to be there more to relish the moment than mourn his passing.

Death Eater attacks since then had increased, both in frequency and the ferocity with which they were conducted: Diagon Alley was being terrorized at least once a week these days, excepting the day before when the Death Eaters themselves had been given the short end of the stick. Minerva smiled with grim satisfaction; they had at least gotten a small share of the comeuppance they so richly deserved. The Wizengamot had convened yesterday evening, holding quick but thorough trials for the four captured Death Eaters; all four of them had been found guilty and sentenced to life in Azkaban. There would be no repeats of the scandal that had knocked the high court on its heels back in 1992, when Peter Pettigrew had resurfaced, after being thought dead for 11 years, and had tried to murder Albus Dumbledore. The Chief Warlock had reacted instinctively, Disarming the man with such power that his hand had literally been torn off. Even then, Albus had tried to save him, but the man had fallen forward, his face hitting the ground in such a way that the bones of his nose had been driven into his brain, killing him instantly.

Minerva sighed a final time, putting her tea and the paper to one side and picking up the book of student names. Those letters would not write themselves she knew. She opened the book to the final page, where the names of the students eligible to attend Hogwarts this year had magically appeared. Somehow, her eyes, tired though they were, found a particular entry in the book, under the P's:

**Harry James Potter, 31 July 1980, seventh year**

Oh, how she wished she could send out _that_ letter! With an effort, she pulled her eyes away from the name, instead taking up a piece of parchment and starting to write down the names of the first-years. With the Death Eaters attacking so openly now, and both Albus and Harry gone, she wondered how in Merlin's name they would manage to make it through this coming year. If the situation continued to deteriorate like this, Minerva feared, this would be the last year Hogwarts would remain open.

**=ooo=**

**Special Announcement: I'm really enjoying writing this story about Harry Potter, Remo Williams and Chiun, the Masters of Sinanju. I enjoyed the Destroyer series when it came out in 1971 and have quite a few of the books, including most of the older books in the series. I hope to have this story continue for at least a dozen chapters and perhaps beyond, as we discover what Harry's plans are for sitting his N.E.W.T.s and what the consequences of those plans will be.**

**One thing that has me a bit disappointed is the number of reviews this story has received so far: as I write this just before posting this chapter there are 21 reviews posted between June 21 and today. That's roughly seven reviews per chapter. For**_**Harry Potter and the Sun Source**_** there was 33 posts on the first day the story was online! You can see why I might feel a bit disappointed.**

**My plan is to keep writing **_**Created, Harry Potter**_**, of course. I've only stopped writing on one story in the list of My Stories, and I don't plan on doing that again. But I do want to see more reviews.**

**So I hope you dear readers can help me out by spreading the word about this story. I enjoy the feedback they give me and I'd like to see 100's of reviews out there before too long. I know it doesn't always work out that way, some people just enjoy reading and not reviewing. I do quite a bit of reading online as well, and I don't always give feedback myself. But that's the biz, sweetheart, as Remo would say.**

**Ongoing work commitments may slow down my CHP output, as much as I enjoy writing it. I will continue to update as often as I can, ****because I really enjoy writing this story and I tend to go back and re-read chapters I've posted, to keep myself familiar with the flow of the story. But you will see new chapters quicker if I see more reviews giving me more ideas on what you want to see.**

**I hope everyone reading the story enjoys the interplay between the main characters Harry, Remo and Chiun, and we will see more characters from the HP universe as the story continues to unfold, plus a few others you might not expect to see. I'd like to integrate some of the characters from the Destroyer book into the story as well — I've mention Winston and Freya, Remo's two children. We may see some other characters as well; if you'd like to suggest a few that should show up to help or harass our heroes, that would be a good review subject.**

**Thank you for reading, and please continue!**


	5. Meet the New Voldemort

.

**Chapter Five**

**Meet the New Voldemort**

_First updated 8/30/2014 _

**=ooo=**

_1 August 1997  
__Malfoy Manor, Devon, UK_

"_Crucio_!" Voldemort thundered in a cold, vicious tone, sending the man before him to the floor howling in paroxysms of pain.

Evan Thrushwood, the Death Eater who had escaped capture at the botched terror attack in Diagon Alley the previous day, was paying the high cost of escaping Azkaban as he thrashed about on the floor of Malfoy Manor's drawing room, screaming in agony as the Dark Lord's spell activated every pain receptor in his body.

The others in the room, most of them Death Eaters themselves, did not move or look away. To do so would call attention to oneself, and it this was not advisable when the Dark Lord was disciplining a follower. One might be called upon to reinforce the lesson.

Draco Malfoy sat between his parents Lucius and Narcissa, horrified by what he was seeing. At one time he had relished the idea of the Dark Lord ascending to power, had believed that men like his father and one day him were born to rule both lesser wizards and Muggles alike.

His father Lucius had recently returned from Azkaban after languishing for almost a year in that nightmare of a prison, on trumped-up charges leveled by the Ministry with almost no evidence. He sat, pale and withdrawn, barely seeming to notice the screams of the man writhing on his drawing room floor. On his other side, his mother Narcissa watched everyone and everything happening in her home in silent desperation. She did not want these people here, Draco knew, but there was little they could do about it. The Dark Lord had come here after his return two years ago, not so much ordering his father to submit to his will as expecting it. During that time Malfoy Manor had become a refuge for the dregs of wizardkind — werewolves like Fenrir Greyback and his pack; hags who snatched children so the Dark Lord could perform the ritual of the Dark Mark on new followers; even giants, who the Dark Lord was trying to convince to join his war. Draco had no idea when this would end, except that he had told his followers recently he would take over the Ministry by the year's end, remaking it into the weapon by which he would rid Britain of the Mudbloods and blood traitors who had infected it with their delusion of equality for all.

The Dark Lord lowered his wand, ending the Cruciatus Curse. Only a few seconds had passed; he wanted his followers punished, not driven insane. "I trust you understand your mistake now, Thrushwood?"

On the floor, Evan Thrushwood nodded weakly, unable to answer immediately. "Y-yes, my lord," he finally gasped, as respectfully as he could muster. "I — I am sorry for my mistake, my lord. It w-will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Voldemort said coldly. He returned his gaze to the others sitting at the drawing room's long, ornate table with him. All of his closest followers were here with him this afternoon — even Snape, who had traveled from Scotland to report on the status of the school now that the old fool who had run it for so many years was dead. He had been ordered to keep abreast of the situation at Hogwarts for the Dark Lord, who wished the school to stay open until he could take control of it. "Severus," he said softly, looking at the sallow-faced man on his right. "Now that my business with Thrushwood is concluded, I would like to hear from you. How fares Hogwarts?"

Snape was silent a moment, seeming to compose his thoughts. "The school will remain open this year, my lord," he said at last. "The board of governors has made McGonagall Headmistress. A nearly inevitable conclusion, given her decades of service there as Deputy," he sneered. "I understand that Horace Slughorn will return for another year as Potions Master. No word yet on who will become the Defense professor this year. There are very few prospects," Snape added, unnecessarily, before falling silent.

"Of course there aren't," Voldemort smiled. Many years ago he had returned to Hogwarts, to reestablish a presence there, a base and source from which he could increase his followers, only to find that the previous Headmaster, Amando Dippet, was no longer in charge, that old Dumbledore himself had taken over. Dumbledore refused to offer him the position of Defense professor and the Dark Lord had left, cursing the position so that no one could teach it for more than a year, ensuring that Dumbledore would always have difficulties filling that professorship. "I will be interested in whomever McGonagall finds this year," he mused, looking toward the Carrows. When he assumed control of the school, it would be they who would take over the position, transforming it into simply, the Dark Arts.

"Yaxley," Voldemort turned to another Death Eater. "Does the Ministry suspect you yet?"

"No, my lord," Yaxley spoke quickly. "I still have access within the Ministry — at least as much as anyone is allowed these days. I am still trusted."

"But the Order may suspect you," Snape noted. "They believe the Ministry has been infiltrated by one of us."

"They got that one right, at least," Amycus Carrow wheezed. A few of the others nearby joined in his laughter, including his sister Alecto.

"The Order has lost its head," Voldemort continued, "and with it gone they have lost any hope of influencing the Ministry." His gaze traveled to Draco. "Our brave young recruit finally completed the mission I set for him over a year ago. Well done, young Draco. I hope you are now ready to complete the Dark Mark ritual and join my innermost circle along with your father."

Narcissa's heart had leapt into her throat. Even Lucius came to life, sitting up with a flickering glance toward his wife before meeting the Dark Lord's gaze. "My lord, is that advisable?" Lucius asked, keeping his voice respectful.

"What do you mean, Lucius?" Voldemort's voice had turned cold again. "Do you not consider it an honor to wear my Mark?"

"Of course, my lord," Lucius bowed forward, lowering his eyes. "But precautions at the school will be greatly increased this year; if Draco is discovered to have the Mark he may be expelled, and you have deemed his presence and influence in the school to be important in paving the way for you to take control after you overthrow the Ministry."

Voldemort was giving Lucius Malfoy a calculating look. Draco kept his gaze lowered, avoiding his eyes. Aunt Bella had told him the Dark Lord could slip into the minds of all but the most powerful Occlumens, and Draco had only been taking occasional lessons from her since the summer after his fifth year; he did not have the skill needed to fully shield his mind from someone as powerful as the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's gaze moved from Lucius to Snape. "Severus, do you concur with Lucius?"

A very shrewd question, Snape realized. If he disagreed with Lucius he might as well seal the Mark on Draco's arm himself; if he agreed he risked annoying or even angering the Dark Lord. "My lord, Draco will be an asset to your cause in the school with his fellow Slytherins. If he is not allowed to attend there could be delays in rallying your supporters there to your cause."

"Perhaps," Voldemort mused. "Perhaps." A cloud seemed to pass over his pale, handsome features. "Very well," he said at last. "We will try it your way for now, Lucius. Young Draco will return to the school without my Mark, and I will expect him to add many of his friends to our ranks before I return to the school in triumph. Agreed, Draco?"

Draco nodded quickly, eager not to offend the Dark Lord. Beside him, his father slumped slightly, in relief, and his mother sighed almost imperceptibly, her hand touching Draco's arm reassuringly. He was safe for a few more months. He even managed a genuine smile as he remembered there was one less irritation waiting for him at school when he returned — no more Harry Potter!

Earlier that year, a few weeks before the summer holidays began, Draco had confronted Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower after bringing Death Eaters into Hogwarts through the Vanishing Cabinet he had repaired. He had been ordered to kill Dumbledore at the beginning of sixth year by the Dark Lord, and he had tried — Merlin knew how he had tried! — but through one lucky chance after another the Headmaster had kept slipping through his grasp. Until that night.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill, not even Dumbledore. Draco's smile hardened, hiding the grimace of frustration he felt at not being able to do that one, simple thing, even to protect his father and mother, for Voldemort had promised their deaths if he failed.

Then Snape had come along… Draco glanced at the former Hogwarts Potions Master, still unsure whether he should be grateful or resentful that his one-time teacher had come upon him and the other Death Eaters, who were urging, even demanding, that Draco kill the Headmaster or step aside so they could do it. Snape did not hesitate as Draco had; he pointed his wand at the Headmaster and shouted the Killing Curse. A green blast struck Dumbledore and lifted him in the air, throwing him over the battlements and out of sight. Afterward he had pushed Draco through the door of the Tower and they rushed down the stairs and out of the castle, pursued by Potter, who had somehow known what they had done despite not being present on the Tower with them. Snape had told him afterwards that Potter was probably beneath his Invisibility Cloak, watching, as Draco tried to kill Dumbledore and failed. It was good that he was dead then, Draco thought; otherwise, if Potter had told others about his failure he would never be able to show his face at Hogwarts again. With Potter out of the way, Draco might be able to remain, safe, at Hogwarts until the Dark Lord took control of Britain. But after that, he knew, he would be expected to take the Mark, to — kill… to prove his worthiness. Draco hoped he could find the strength to do what had to be done to preserve the line of Malfoy.

At the head of the table, Voldemort smiled to himself, aware of the Malfoy family's disloyal thoughts. Lucius had always been the consummate blood purist, at least while his star was rising and he was standing at the forefront of the pure-blood elite in Britain. A year in Azkaban, where Voldemort had left him as punishment for failing to secure the prophecy from the Ministry as he'd been ordered to do, had brought him down quite low. Contrast Lucius with his sister-in-law Bellatrix, who even now watched the Dark Lord with a maniacal fascination as she sat with his other followers. The time she had spent in prison had aged her, but she had lost none of her youthful enthusiasm for dealing death and terror among the rabble who sided with Dumbledore and his minions of the light.

He knew she desired him. Even in the days when he was in his original body, pale-white and reptilian in appearance, and she married to Rodolphus Lestrange, Bella had embraced the idea of being exclusively his since taking the Mark, one of the few women he had permitted to possess it. He had never returned her feelings in the old days beyond allowing her more familiarity with him than even his most loyal male Death Eaters, addressing her as "dear Bella," to give the appearance of a closeness he had never felt.

But now? Now, in his new, pure-blood body, given willingly by his most faithful servant, Barty Crouch, Jr., he could at last fully embrace ideas of blood purity and superiority that had eluded him during his days as the son of a Muggle man and pure-blood witch. As Tom Marvolo Riddle. Now he was as much a pure-blood as any of them. He would keep this body more human than his older, half-blood body; there was more time to research immortality and eternal youth now — he would expect Snape to make good on his boasts to be able to stopper death itself.

His eyes met Bella's for a moment and he smiled, wondering what it would be like to be with her, to physically join with her as a man and a woman. For most of his life he had eschewed the idea of sex — it was an unnecessary distraction, a complication that brought with it feelings of tenderness and familiarity that he found weak and distasteful. But, it could also be a useful tool for bending a woman to his will. Bella would kill on command for him even now — how much more eagerly would she obey if the promise of physical gratification with him was within reach?

_We will talk later_, he told her with his eyes, watching as her own eyes filled with sudden hope, sudden longing. _Yes_, he thought as his attention returned to the others as he ordered them to report on their recent activities. _We will see just how much you are willing to do for me, Bella dear_.

**=ooo=**

_13 August 1997  
__Diagon Alley_

"Remember," Arthur Weasley said again as his family stepped through the archway from the Leaky Cauldron's courtyard. A Ministry vehicle had been provided for him, his wife and two youngest now that the most of the Floo Network was shut down to prevent Death Eater attacks in private homes.

"Everyone stay within eyesight — I don't want to lose sight of either of you, even for a moment."

"Yes, Dad," Ginny and Ron both muttered, glancing at one another with a shared eye roll. "Ouch," Ron suddenly said as his mother cuffed the back of his head.

"I saw that," she said sternly. "You listen to your father, Ronald Bilius! And you too!" she added, poking Ginny in the shoulder. "This is for _your_ protection, you know!"

"Yes, Mum," Ron said, rubbing the back of his head. The cuff hadn't really hurt; it was more the indignity of being treated like a first-year that had him chafing at his parents' caution. "Where're we going first?"

"To see Fred and George," Arthur answered distractedly, looking around for any indication something might be wrong. "After that we'll work our way back through Diagon Alley picking up your and Ginny's school supplies."

Clumps of people were moving cautiously through the Alley, together for added security just as Arthur and his family were doing. It was heartening to note, however, that there were _more_ clumps of people than usual — the thwarted attack two weeks ago had seen the cessation of Death Eater squads appearing to wreak havoc.

As the Weasleys passed Gringotts Ron looked at majestic white stone building. There were now two guards standing at the bronze doors leading to the wizarding bank, both of them holding Probity Probes. "They put extra security on, I see," he commented. "I wonder how Bill's wedding plans with Fleur are coming?" This was a bit of a dig at his mum, in retaliation for the head slap; she loathed Fleur Delacour with a passion Ron had never seen equaled, except perhaps for Lucius Malfoy when the two of them butted heads in Flourish and Blotts at the beginning of Ron's second year when they were buying Lockhart's books. Ron would have thought his father would have confronted Malfoy, but he was…

Ron frowned. He couldn't quite remember where his father had been that day. He concentrated, replaying that day in his head; his father had been — around, somewhere — but where exactly and what he'd been doing weren't coming to mind. Ron shrugged and figured he'd remember some time when he least expected to.

The Weasley twin's shop was near the far end of Diagon Alley, not far from Ollivander's wand shop. "I have to admit the boys are doing wonderfully," Molly was saying to Arthur. "Especially in these times."

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "I worry a bit for them, though, especially these days. I wish we knew what happened with those Death Eaters!" he added in frustration. "What caused them to turn on one another?"

Ron laughed suddenly; they had come upon the Weasley twin's shop. "Maybe they got into the U-No-Poo," he said, pointing.

"The what—?" Arthur asked, confused, then followed his son's pointing finger to the poster on the front window of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Written in bold, flashing letters, the poster read:

**WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT**  
**YOU-KNOW-WHO?**  
**YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT**  
**U-NO-POO —**  
**THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION**  
**THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!**

"Oh my goodness," Arthur gasped, appalled but at the same time trying not to laugh.

"They'll be murdered in their beds," Molly whispered, as Ginny giggled.

"No they won't!" Ron said, still laughing. "This is brilliant! Come on!" He pushed his way into the shop, where they found almost as many people inside as were in the rest of Diagon Alley. The store was filled with witches and wizards of all ages examining the wares Fred and George had to offer: There were shelves devoted to the candies the twins had developed at Hogwarts during their last year there: Canary Creams, the Ton-Tongue Toffees, and cartons of Skiving Snackboxes, which evidently were flying off the shelf — only a final, battered box was on display.

There were bins of joke wands; the simplest of which simply turned into a rubber chicken or a bouquet of flowers when you waved it. The more expensive ones would begin beating you about the head and shoulders, or whack your bottom repeatedly. There were Color-Change Cloaks and Headless Hats — wizard hats that would make your whole head disappear when you put it on.

Further on were shelves of Wonder Witch products, for the sophisticated witch's beauty regimen. Ron watched, his eyes narrowing as Ginny picked up a bottle of Love Potion Number 8 and 2/3. "What're you gonna do with that?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Just looking," Ginny said, putting it down and giving Ron a baleful stare. "Not that's it's any of _your_ business, Ronald Bilius."

Ron rolled his eyes. "The lady doth protest too much, _Ginevra Molly_," he sniped back. "What d'you think Mum's going to say if she sees you with that?"

"She's not going to see me with it because I'm not going to buy it!" Ginny snapped, starting to walk away, but before she could take more than a step Fred had appeared at her elbow.

"Buy what?" Fred said, giving her a look every bit as suspicious as Ron had. "There's nothing on this shelf for you, little sister. And you!" he whirled, pointing at a boy at a nearby shelf. "Keep that joke wand out of your pocket 'til you pay for it!"

"Your money's no good here, Gin," George added, appearing suddenly next to her as well. "At least not for stuff like this."

"Keep your pants on," Ginny muttered, annoyed at all of her brothers by now. "I don't need a love potion to go on a date with a boy I like."

George and Fred both raised their eyebrows. "That's a rather upsetting thought," Fred said, holding his stomach as if he had suddenly become nauseated.

Ron had caught sight of a familiar bushy hairdo near the front of the store and left his brothers and sister to their own bickering. "Oi, Hermione!" he said loudly, raising his hand to catch her attention as he hurried forward.

As he got closer, however, he discovered that she was not alone. With her was Lisa Turpin, a Ravenclaw in their year, Luna Lovegood, from Ginny's year, Katie Bell, a Gryffindor who just left Hogwarts and — Ron did a slight double-take as he saw her — Lavender Brown, from Gryffindor as well. "Hi," he said, feeling a little awkward.

"Hi," Hermione said quietly. The other girls murmured hellos as well. The last time Ron had spoken with Hermione had been before Harry's memorial service at Hogwarts, held the day after Dumbledore's funeral. "How have you been?" she asked, looking uncomfortable.

"Good," Ron said, with a false cheer that faded as soon as the word was out of his mouth. "Uh, you know, practicing Quidditch, stuff like that," he added in a more subdued tone. "Out getting your school supplies?"

"We are," Lavender nodded, breaking into the conversation. "We thought we'd all come together, do like the Ministry suggests and stay in a group."

"Good idea," Ron said. He was rapidly running out of things to say. "So, uh, Luna, how's your father doing?"

Luna had been looking around the shop with apparent fascination. "He's fine," she said distractedly. "Ronald, do you think your brothers would mind if I suggested Daddy write a story about their shop?"

"What's this about a story?" Fred was suddenly there, looking at Luna with gleaming eyes.

"About our shop?" George, who had also appeared, finished Fred's thought.

"You have some very unusual things in here," Luna said, pointing to a shelf containing Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. "Daddy likes writing about unusual things."

Fred and George exchanged glances. "I'm sure something could be worked out," Fred began.

"As long as your father doesn't think we're part of the Rotfang Conspiracy," George continued.

"And that we're not using goblin blood in our Wonder Witch product line," Fred added.

Luna studied the twins with her protuberant gray eyes. "You aren't, are you?" she asked, curiously.

"Of course not!" both twins said brightly.

"Oh!" Lavender spoke up. "I do want to see that! Where' s it at?"

"Right this way, dear lady," Fred said, bowing and gesturing toward the shelves in the back. Lavender went off that way, with Fred following behind her.

Lisa nudged Hermione. "I'll be right back," she said quietly, going after Lavender.

Katie grinned at Hermione. "I better go chaperone them before they buy something they shouldn't." She followed after Lisa and Lavender, leaving Ron alone with Hermione and an uncomfortable silence.

They both looked around as if trying to think of something to say.

"Sorry I haven't written," Ron said at last.

"It's alright," Hermione said quickly. "I don't really —" she shrugged helplessly "— know what there is to say. We're both … adults. We can still be … friends."

Ron felt like there was a knife twisting in his guts. "Yeah," he said, unhappily. "I messed up. I shouldn't have been jealous of you and —" he sighed.

"Ron," Hermione said patiently. "It's not that. I had no idea Harry was going to ask me out. I'm not sure why I said yes. I guess I didn't think he meant it like a real date. I just didn't know you felt — well, the way you did." She threw her hands up in a gesture of frustration. "You were dating Lavender, for heaven's sake! Why would I think you liked _me_?"

"I don't know," Ron said dejectedly. "I thought you were still dating Krum."

"Ron, I haven't talked to Viktor in almost two years," Hermione pointed out. "I wrote him a few times during fifth year, but he was always busy practicing his Quidditch." She made a wry face. "He was nice, very gallant, but we just never…clicked."

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "I guess we never 'clicked' either, did we?" he asked, quietly.

Hermione looked at him, but didn't answer for several seconds. "I guess we didn't," she said at last.

There was a final question Ron wanted to ask, though he knew he might get yelled at for it. "So, what happened with you and Harry?"

They stared at each other, that question hanging between them. "It's not really important," she finally said. "He's — gone, now."

Ron winced at that, more for what she'd left unsaid than because she'd mentioned Harry being gone. "I wish I knew what got into him last year. He never acted wild like that before."

"I know," Hermione agreed immediately. "It was almost like he was a different person last year! He wanted to date just about every girl in school."

"He was a lot different when we first got there," Ron remembered. "In first year he barely said anything unless someone spoke to him first. And in second year —! He was almost as uptight as my dad sometimes! Remember we practically had to force him into taking the Polyjuice Potion so he and I could sneak into the Slytherin common room and find out what Malfoy knew about the Heir of Slytherin."

"_I_ practically had to force _both_ of you to take it," Hermione reminded him, tartly. "And then Harry accidentally spilled my cup, so I couldn't go with you two."

"And _then_," Ron recalled, warming into the subject. "When we finally figured out the clue you left us about the Basilisk, collected Lockhart and went to talk to Myrtle, and she told us about some great nasty snake coming out of a pipe in her bathroom where a sink used to be, and Lockhart grabbed my wand and tried to Memory Charm us but it backfired on him, Harry ran off and got Dumbledore!" Ron shook his head, mystified by some of the things Harry did that year. "Dumbledore made me take Lockhart to the infirmary while he and Harry went down the pipe to save Ginny. Thank Merlin they did it, but _dammit_!" Ron swore. "I wanted to help get her back!"

"I'm glad she was saved," Hermione said earnestly. "She said your dad took care of her all that summer."

Ron nodded. "He was really scared, almost losing her like that. He said he dropped everything he was doing for Dumbledore and came home straightaway after getting Mum's message about Ginny."

"Talking about Dad?" Ron turned to see Ginny coming up to him, with the other girls from Hermione's group in tow, and Fred and George behind them.

"Sort of," Ron hedged.

"We were trying to figure out Harry, too," Hermione added, in the interest of full disclosure. "I know I shouldn't speak ill of the —" she stopped and had the grace to look uncomfortable at this point "— well, he'd been acting rather strange the last few years."

"I thought he was becoming more interesting," Luna said, staring through a pair of Sneak-o-Specs she had picked up on the way back from the Wonder Witch shelf. "None of the other boys have ever asked me for a date."

"He asked you, _too_?" Katie turned to Luna in surprise.

Luna nodded, as did Ginny. "Both of us," Ginny said. "At the same time," she added, uncomfortably.

"Really?" Katie gasped. "What bloody cheek!"

"He was a wild man last year," Fred said, grinning. "I heard he asked out Parvati Patil and she kicked him in his Golden Snitches. He wasn't much of a Seeker after that, Ron said."

Katie laughed. "I wouldn't say that," she giggled. "Harry never flew that great after his first year. He was still _okay_, he just wasn't that brilliant anymore."

Ron folded his arms. "I wondered if it had something to do with his Muggle relatives, but he never said that much about them. I don't think they treated him that well."

"He told me a couple of years ago he wasn't having any problems with them anymore," George chimed in.

"Huh," Lavender huffed. "He told _me_ last year he was being treated poorly at home — that's why he wanted the comfort of a beautiful woman's arms." She blushed as Ron raised an eyebrow at her. "That was after you and I — er —" she stopped, realizing Hermione was there, too. "— ah, um, went out."

"Strange," Hermione muttered, ignoring Lavender. "It's almost like Harry was someone different to every person he talked to. I wonder…" She looked at Ron. "I have a something to ask you. In private."

There was a titillated "Oooooo" from the group at this. Hermioned blushed furiously but took Ron by the arm and marched him to the back of the shop, where they ducked into Fred and George's office.

"What's all this about?" Ron asked querulously, daring to hope she was considering getting back together.

Before she said anything else to him Hermione took out her wand and pointed it at the door to the office. "_Imperturbo_," she said, and the door flashed with a momentary whiteness. "There, that should keep this just between us."

"Keep what?" Ron wanted to know, beginning to have some hope again.

She leaned forward, speaking quietly. "Do you remember when Harry reappeared with Cedric's body after the last Task? Professor Moody tried to take Harry away, but he didn't want to go and started fighting Moody? And Dumbledore intervened and Stunned him, then took him and Harry off somewhere to talk?"

Ron nodded, now baffled. "Yeah, so what?"

"So," Hermione said, "I followed them."

Ron stared at her a long moment, then grinned. "So _that's_ where you were! I wondered what happened to you! So did you find out what was going on?"

"I did," Hermione nodded excitedly. "Harry and Professor Dumbledore got Professor Snape and they took Professor Moody to his office. When Professor Dumbledore told the gargoyle the password I used one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears to listen in.

"After they went up I waited a few seconds to give them time to go in the office, then went over to the gargoyle and gave it the password, and it worked! I went up the stairs and put the Ear under the door so I could hear. Do you know what Moody told them?"

Ron pulled a face. "Of course I don't! You never told me anything about this! So give, already!"

Hermione leaned even closer and spoke in a whisper. "Moody wasn't really Moody! Professor Snape gave him Veritaserum and made him tell the truth about why he tried to take Harry away. He told them he was really Barty Crouch, Jr. —"

"The son of that bloke who was in charge of the Department of Magical Games and Recreation?" Ron looked astounded. "Dad told us he died in Azkaban years ago."

"I know!" Hermione cried, then quickly lowered her voice again. "He was using Polyjuice to impersonate Professor Moody! They made him reveal where the real Moody was — locked in a chest in his private quarters." Hermione sighed. "I had to leave quickly after that, I was afraid they were going to rush out to save Professor Moody, so I ran back to the common room. I thought Professor Dumbledore would tell us about all of it at the End-of-Year feast, but he never said a word…"

Hermione folded her arms, looking chagrined. "I wanted to find out what they did with Barty Crouch, but there was never an article in the _Prophet_ about it. Not even about his capture, mind you! And then Voldemort —" Ron winced at the name "— returned and we all had bigger problems to deal with."

"Right…" Ron looked thoughtful for a moment, then his expression became hard. "How come you never mentioned anything about this to me before?"

Hermione flushed scarlet. "I was still seeing Viktor then, and you weren't being too nice to me about it," she said, defensively. "Then classes were canceled and we were sent home early, and I decided I would tell you when we came back the next year.

"But we were made prefects that summer, and when we went back to school we had to deal with that horrid Umbridge woman," she went on. "Harry got into so much trouble that year, but I was so proud of him for standing up to her! Then we formed Dumbledore's Army, and Dobby told Harry about the Room of Requirement, and we started practicing Defense spells in there… I sort of forgot about Barty Crouch… After fifth year I remembered I was going to tell you, and we'd gotten on much better that year, even with everything happening with Harry and Umbridge trying to get Hagrid and Professor Trelawney sacked and everything. I thought I would tell you when sixth year began.

"Then Viktor wrote me just before school began," Hermione said, in a voice devoid of emotion. "He wanted to concentrate on Quidditch and didn't want me to write him anymore. I was going to talk to you about it, but you immediately took up with Lavender, and —" she shrugged, almost angrily. "And Harry was going around asking out any girl who would talk to him. In fifth year he barely _looked_ at a girl — even Cho Chang, who I _know_ wanted him to ask her out… Well, I decided I wanted to figure out some things about Harry on my own."

"Like what?" Ron said, bluntly, stung by her last comment.

"Well, _obviously_," she said, exasperated with Ron's thickness. "That if Crouch was pretending to be Moody, someone _else_ might be using Polyjuice to impersonate Harry."

"Oh. Oh!" Ron looked like he'd just been hit with a blinding flash of the obvious. "But — why would anyone need to do that?"

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione was getting frustrated. "Because _something might have happened to Harry_, that's why? Look at how Harry was acting then." She began ticking off points on her fingers. "You said during second year he took a lot fewer risks than he did during first year; his Quidditch game was off — Oliver Wood complained he wasn't the Seeker he'd been the year before."

"He got better, though," Ron pointed out. "He improved in third year and was flying pretty good by the end, even though they canceled Quidditch for the Tri-Wizard Tournament in fourth year."

"Right," Hermione agreed. "So I did some checking around that year and I found an article in the _Prophet_ the summer after our third year that said Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt was taking an extended sabbatical in France." She gave Ron a knowing look. "That made me wonder what he was actually doing there. So I made some inquiries and found that he wasn't at any magical resort or spa in France or Europe!"

"That doesn't prove anything," Ron objected.

"I know," Hermione admitted. "But I was _sure_ that Shacklebolt was pretending to be Harry during our fourth year, and I wanted to be ready to prove it."

"And?" Ron prompted.

"And — I was wrong," Hermione said, flatly, her expression falling. "Shacklebolt was one of the Aurors assigned to Hogwarts on Umbridge's Inquisitional detail, and we saw both of them together. So Shacklebolt _couldn't_ have been pretending to be Harry."

"Okay," Ron looked thoughtful. "But that doesn't mean you're _completely_ wrong, does it? Someone else could have been pretending to be Harry, couldn't they?"

"Maybe," Hermione shook her head. "But I checked up on all the male Aurors working for the Ministry, and they were all accounted for."

Ron saw an obvious flaw in that statement. "What about female Aurors?"

Hermione looked startled, then upset. "Oh my goodness, why didn't _I_ think of that? One of them could have been impersonating Harry!"

Ron nodded, a big smugly. "Right, then. So what do you think now? And what question were you going to ask me, by the way?"

"I think that we have no idea whether Harry is really alive or dead," Hermione declared. "If someone impersonated him and was killed last year, they would have remained in their Polyjuiced transformation. It takes some fairly complicated diagnostic magic to determine if a body is really that person or someone Polyjuiced to look like them."

"I don't think I want to know where this is going," Ron muttered.

Hermione had a determined look on her face. "I've researched the spells," she said quietly. "It shouldn't take me more than a few minutes to cast them on Harry's body —"

"Whoa," Ron said, holding up his hands. "Are you _seriously_ considering opening up Harry's tomb and doing this? Doesn't that sound rather — well, _mental_ to you?"

"I think we need to know, Ron," Hermione said firmly. "_I_ want to know, because we've still got to deal with Voldemort — oh, grow up, Ron, it's just a name!" she snapped as Ron flinched again. "Don't you care whether your best friend is dead or not?"

"Of course I care!" Ron snapped, annoyed by Hermione's manipulation.

"Look," he said finally. "I'll help you, but only because I don't want you getting into trouble if this goes pear-shaped somehow. When do you want to do it? And how are we going to get into Hogwarts during holiday?"

"I've already planned it all out," Hermione said confidently. "I want you to owl Hagrid and ask if we can come visit him next week, since we didn't get to see much of him last year. Since you can't legally Apparate yet —"

"Don't remind me," Ron muttered darkly, remembering. He had to take his Apparition test over; the examiner had taken off points because Ron Splinched an eyebrow and he'd _just_ missed making a passing score.

"Sorry," she said, sympathetically. "I think the examiner was overly critical. But back to the plan: We can visit with Hagrid a while, then I want you to distract him while I slip away and go down to where Harry's tomb is. I'll cast diagnostic spells on the body to see if it's really him or not."

"How long will that take?" Ron asked worriedly. "Hagrid's bound to notice you're gone."

"Just get him talking about Blast-Ended Skrewts or Norberta," Hermione suggested. "He'll forget all about me until I get back. Then we can leave and I'll tell you what I discovered. Oh, and there's one other thing I need you to do."

"What's that?"

"This is really important. I need to find a bit of Harry so the diagnostic magic can compare it to the body I'm examining," Hermione explained. "I've been looking through my books and potion supplies, trying to find a bit of him like a hair, but I haven't come up with any. Can you look through your stuff and see if you can find anything?"

That sounded weird, but— "I can do that," Ron agreed, wondering if after five years finding any of Harry's hair in his belongings would even be possible.

"Great," Hermione breathed. "I really appreciate it Ron," she smiled at him. He smiled back. _It was still possible_, he thought hopefully. _She could still be with me again_.

"I hope this works," Ron muttered, running a hand nervously through his red hair. He hoped she wouldn't hold it against him if he couldn't find a bit of Harry in his things.

"It will work," Hermione said stubbornly. "It has to, if we want to find out the truth."

**=ooo=**

_30 August 1997  
__Heathrow Airport, London, UK_

"Well, that's seven hours and 43 minutes I'll never get back," Harry muttered as he and Remus debarked from the jetliner he, Remo, Chiun and Remus had just landed in.

"I was rather grateful for the chance to rest," Remus said mildly. "We've been going nonstop for almost a whole day now." Harry and Remus had left the Salem Institute Friday after Harry's last examination, driven to Boston Logan International Airport and taken a flight up to JFK, where they met Remo and Chiun to fly to London. From here Harry and Remus would Apparate to Hogsmeade, where Remus had an appointment with Headmistress McGonagall to see about taking the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Remo and Chiun would stay at the Savoy until the first, when they would all travel to Hogsmeade to get Chiun and Remo rooms at Three Broomsticks while Harry went to Hogwarts for the start-of-term feast. He still wasn't sure if he wanted to stay in the castle full-time; if Remo got an interesting assignment he might want to take some time off class and go with him and Chiun.

"I guess," Harry said, a little distracted as he looked around for the baggage claim for their flight. Chiun's 14 steamer trunks weren't going to haul themselves to the Savoy. He and Remo would have to snag a couple of porters to deal with the trunks, including warning them about the consequences if there was so much as a single scratch on any of them. Remo tipped well, but even 50 pounds was poor compensation if all your bones were broken.

Remus was looking behind them as they walked down the concourse. "I don't see them yet," he told Harry, referring to Remo and Chiun.

"Chiun is probably writing a poem to commemorate the flight," Harry replied. "It was a so-so flight so it'll only be about 500 lines or so."

"Look," Remus said, nodding towards a moving walkway nearby. "Chiun's going to love that, too."

"Yeah," Harry gave it barely a glance. "And he'll want to go to Disneyland again when we get home." Chiun absolutely _loved_ Disneyland, perhaps even more than airplanes. Ironically, Harry wasn't sure Remo had ever actually _taken_ Chiun there. They had been in many amusement parks over the years but none of them were Disneyland, as far as Harry could recall, which was somewhere in California.

"So what time is your meeting with McGonagall," Harry asked, wondering how much time they had to get Chiun and his trunks to the Savoy.

"Four p.m.," Remus said, pulling out an old pocket watch to check the time. "That gives us just a bit over three hours." He looked around again, but still no Remo or Chiun. "I hope Master Chiun isn't going to stay on the plane much longer."

"If he makes us late to the hotel you can just go ahead without me," Harry said, waving a hand carelessly. "Just tell McGonagall I'm coming back for my last year."

"Well…" Remus said, halting and giving Harry a guilty look. "When I talked to her yesterday she mentioned something I haven't told you just yet…"

Harry sighed and stopped, turning back to Remus with a _now-what?_ look on his face. "What did she tell you?" he asked.

"She said she wished I could have come back to Hogwarts before this year, since you were dead."

Harry laughed. "Great," he said, rubbing his forehead as if he were getting a headache, even though he hadn't experienced one in years, beyond an occasional pang in his scar. "So not only has someone been pretending to _be_ me for the past five years, but now they think I'm _dead_?"

"I asked her about the details, and she said you were killed chasing after Dumbledore's killers," Remus said, seriously.

"Well, obviously, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Harry quipped, resuming his walk down the concourse. "You didn't tell her I was alive, then?"

"I didn't know if she'd believe me," Remus said, honestly. "I thought it would be better if you showed up in person and she could see for herself."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe Dumbledore let something like this go on for so long. What was he thinking?"

"You know what I think," Remus replied. "He didn't want Voldemort gaining an advantage because you weren't around to rally the light side into opposing him."

"He managed to get a body anyway, according to the _Prophet_," Harry pointed out. "And if things are getting as bad as you said, the light side does need to start opposing him more vigorously. It's just as well I decided I wanted to come back to Britain and go through the last year. Especially since," he added ironically, "I _have_ to attend Hogwarts to be eligible to take my N.E.W.T.s in June."

The requirement had been added by the Ministry in mid-August after it became apparent that many wizarding parents planned to have their seventh-year children stay home and return to Hogwarts only to take their final tests at the end of the school year. There'd been protests and outrage over the decision, but the Ministry had held fast. Remus had suggested that Voldemort's forces had infiltrated the Ministry, as Arthur had told him in a letter last year. Voldemort would want to sway fresh, young minds to his cause, and keeping the wizarding school open was the best place for him to do just that.

"Assuming Chiun lets you stay," Remus added parenthetically.

Harry shrugged fractionally. "He's not keen about coming here to Britain to live," he explained. "When I pointed out that there was a good chance I could take out the death demon or whatever he wants to believe Voldemort is, he said I could use another ten years of training to make sure I was ready. I told him that was too long, that innocent people were being killed _now_." He gave Remus a cynical look. "I'm sure he'd like to figure out some way I could get paid for killing Voldemort."

"Hmm." Remus looked thoughtful. "I wonder if Minerva knows how desperate the Ministry really is to be shot of him."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe I should just go to the Ministry and ask _them_."

"They're going to find out soon enough when you show up at Hogwarts on September first."

"I suppose," Harry mused. "Good news does travel fast…" he paused for a moment, then without looking around said, "Remo and Chiun are off the plane now."

Remus looked behind him. Far back, at the gate where they had entered the concourse, he could just make out Remo and Chiun coming out of the jetway. "You're right," he said, still amazed at how Harry could sense such things. "I can barely see them, but you knew without even looking."

"I'd be a pretty piss-poor apprentice of Sinanju if I couldn't," Harry said, stopping. "We may want to wait for them, Chiun will want to take the moving sidewalk and that's going a lot slower than we are." He was also sensing some other vibrations, jerky one as if someone were flailing around in distress. Harry turned toward them, to a nearby gate where he saw —

"I'll be damned," he murmured.

Remus looked around. "What is it?" he asked.

"Look over there." Harry pointed toward a gate area near where they had stopped. The gate was about half-full of people, Remus saw, but they were bunched up on one side of the gate. All of them were staring over towards the empty half of the gate. That half had only three people in it, but the reason why was immediately apparent: a large young man in a blond crew-cut was shadow-boxing there as the other two people looked on, a beefy man with graying hair and a bushy mustache, and a thin, horse-faced woman, both of whom were staring at the young man with undisguised pride and affection.

"You show 'em, my boy," the beefy man was encouraging the younger one. "None of them would be smart to take you on. And neither will your opponents once they see you in action!"

"That's rather rude," Remus muttered to Harry. "Is he really trying to intimidate all those people?"

"I don't doubt it," Harry retorted. "Given who they are. That's the Dursleys, my aunt, uncle and cousin."

"It is?" Remus looked again. "You aren't thinking of saying hello, are you?" he asked, with some trepidation. Harry had never had a good word to say about the family he left five years ago.

Harry smiled humorlessly. "You know, I think I am." He walked up behind Vernon and Petunia, who were still staring admiringly at their son Dudley as he pummeled the air repeatedly. He stood there a few moments, unnoticed, then said, "What a surprise seeing you here!"

Vernon and Petunia spun around, staring at him blankly before Vernon spoke. "Who are you?"

"Don't you recognize me, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, sweetly. "I'm your nephew, Harry."

Vernon frowned. Along one of his temples a small vein began to throb. Vernon didn't like surprises and to him this was one of the nastiest he could have imagined. "No you're not," he shook his head. "You don't look anything like the boy."

"It's been five years, Uncle," Harry reminded him. He glanced at Petunia. "Surely you recognize me, dear Auntie Petunia?"

Petunia shuddered at what she had called him. "You — you can't be him," she said, siding with Vernon, if only because she desperately hoped her husband was right.

"Oh, I am," Harry said. He pointed at Dudley. "I see ickle Diddikins isn't so little anymore," he pointed out. "Looks like he decided to turn bullying into a career."

"What do you mean?" Vernon blustered indignantly. "Dudley is very good at boxing! He's on the Olympic Boxing team, in fact! We're on our way to Barcelona now! What have _you_ been doing for the past five years, then?"

Harry's face twisted as he tried to imagine how someone like Dudley had managed to make an Olympic team.

"You were always jealous of him!" Petunia added viciously, seeing his expression.

"Well, there was so much of him to be jealous of," Harry pointed out, making Vernon harrumph derisively and Petunia shake her head violently, as if that could make Dudley less vast somehow.

Dudley suddenly noticed his parents weren't giving him their full attention anymore. "Oi! What's up over there? Is that kid bothering you, Mum and Dad?"

Petunia jerked her head toward Harry. "He says he's your cousin Harry, Diddy." Harry smiled at the pet name Petunia had always — and apparently still was — using for her son.

"What?" Dudley looked surprised. As thick as he ever was, Harry thought. "Go on," he said, waving an arm at Harry. "Get out of here. Piss off, you — don't make me come over there!"

"I won't," Harry said. He walked around the row of chairs toward Dudley. "So you're a boxer now, are you?"

"What's it to you?" Dudley demanded.

"Just call it a professional interest," Harry shrugged. "So how good are you?"

"You want to find out?" Dudley asked, raising his fists in front of himself. "Look at you! I don't think you could last a minute against me."

"You're right," Harry agreed. "I don't think it would take a minute for us to find that out."

Dudley swept a muscular arm at the other side of the gate. "Nobody else wanted to spar with me," he said, contemptuously. "They were all scared 'a me." He pointed at Harry. "You oughta be scared 'a me, too. You ran away often enough."

"Diddy, what are you saying?" Petunia cried. "You said you never hurt Harry — not really, you said!"

"Just boys being boys," Vernon said, gruffly. "Besides, the boy needed some toughening up — Dudley was doing him a favor back then."

Harry glanced back at his aunt and uncle. They were their usual clueless selves about their son — that or they were being willfully ignorant of all the times Dudley had taken advantage of him and bullied him. On the other side of the gate he could hear snatches of conversation as people watched the spectacle unfold.

"That guy's going to get his arse handed to him."

"I hope he can get that big idiot to stop fooling around, it's almost time to start boarding."

"I hope he pepper sprays that guy."

Harry abruptly decided Dudley wasn't worth bothering with. "Good luck in Spain, Dudley," he said, turning away.

"Chicken shit," Dudley taunted him. "Come on, chicken shit, let's have a go."

Well, that tore it. Besides, he would probably never get another chance to see the Dursleys again; he might as well make the most of the opportunity.

Harry turned back. "Tell you what," he said, conversationally. "I'll let you take three swings at me. I won't move from this spot until after your third swing. If you manage to touch me I'll give you this." He pulled a roll of British pound notes from his pocket." Dudley's eyes goggled at the roll of bills as Harry dropped them on the floor between his feet.

"But if you miss then I get one shot at you," Harry went on. "Just one, and I'll only use one finger. Deal?"

Dudley gave him a suspicious look. "You're not gonna use any of that — that stuff — on me, are you?"

"Nope," Harry shook his head. "Just my finger."

Dudley nodded. "Deal," he said, and suddenly swung a vicious right at Harry's head.

Dudley was trying to catch him off-guard with a sucker punch. Harry watched the fist coming at him. It would have cold-cocked any normal person, but Harry had never been normal, even before he'd learned Sinanju. He slipped his head to the left, watching Dudley's fist fly by his right cheek just a fraction of an inch from him. Dudley staggered as his hard punch connected only air. He recovered, pulling his fist back to a ready position, and scowled at Harry.

"You got lucky that time," he growled. His next punch was aimed at Harry's left shoulder, making it harder to dodge. But once again Harry knew where it was going and he turned, his shoulder retreating before Dudley's fist until his arm was fully extended, then coming forward again as Dudley pulled his fist back. To Dudley it seemed as if he'd punched into Harry's shoulder but hit nothing.

"What the hell?" Dudley muttered, trying to figure out what was happening. It was like Harry was a ghost, visible but untouchable. For a second he wondered if his cousin was using magic, but he didn't have that thing — his wand — in his hand. Dudley growled in frustration.

His final swing was a straight punch directly at Harry's stomach. _No way to dodge this punch without moving_! he thought viciously. But as Dudley's fist neared Harry's stomach his legs bent at the knee and he leaned backwards far enough that Harry's stomach remained out of reach, somehow staying that way as Dudley's arm remained extended!

Dudley roared in anger and swung downward, but Harry was suddenly gone from the spot. Dudley jerked as Harry's voice was in his ear. "That was your fourth shot, cousin. I'll take my free one now."

Dudley swung his fist at the voice. It connected only air, and there was sudden blinding pain in his wrist as Harry tapped it with his finger. "Aaaaah!" Dudley screamed. "What did you do?!" He grabbed his wrist; it felt like several bones were broken.

"I just gave you an excuse not to go to the Olympics," Harry told him, walking back toward his aunt and uncle. As he passed Vernon and Petunia he said, "You'd better take him to the hospital — that wrist will need to be looked at."

"What did you do?!" Vernon demanded loudly.

"I showed him and you that whatever idiot put Dudley on the Olympic boxing team didn't know what they were doing," Harry retorted. "Either that, or you bought his way onto the team." Vernon harrumphed loudly but said nothing.

"I thought so," Harry snorted. "Dudley's no Olympic athlete. He wouldn't have made it past the first round. You can thank me when he still has what little brains he possesses when he's 30."

Vernon raised his arms threateningly, his hands balled into fists. Petunia grabbed him as if she would hold him back, but he shook her off. Ten feet away, Dudley had sat down on the floor and was beginning to cry from the pain in his broken wrist. Petunia looked worriedly at him but seemed unable to move away from Vernon and help her son. Perhaps she thought her husband was in even more danger than Dudley had been. She was right.

Harry regarded his uncle's threatening stance with some amusement. He looked into the older man's eyes. "Do you remember Remo?" he asked. "The guy that came to the house just after we got back from King's Cross?"

Vernon's beady eyes narrowed even more. "What about him?" he demanded.

"He's been training me for the past five years," Harry continued. "You remember what Remo did to you when you tried to bully him, don't you?"

Vernon was giving him a wary look now, but he said nothing.

"If you want to take a swing at me, go ahead," Harry said. "But after everything that happened during the ten years I lived with you, I'm not going to go easy on you if you do. So decide."

Vernon remained stock-still for several seconds, various emotions playing across his face: anger, then fear, and finally resignation and surrender. He lowered his arms.

"Good choice," Harry told him. He turned to Petunia. "Better get Dudley some medical attention now. Have a good life."

The other side of the gate erupted in applause as Harry walked back to Remus, who had been watching anxiously. "So that was your aunt and uncle," he remarked as Harry stopped in front of him.

"That's them," Harry nodded. "They were taking my cousin to the Olympics in Barcelona. He was on the British Olympic boxing team."

"I heard that," Remus replied. "In fact, half the concourse heard that. Your uncle is pretty loud."

"He's used to getting his way by running over people," Harry said. "You can imagine what happened when he tried that on Remo."

Remus grinned. "I'm sure that didn't work out too well for him. Speaking of Remo," he added, pointing to the moving walkway, "He and Master Chiun have almost caught up to us."

"Harry, Harry!" Chiun called out at that moment, waving at them from the walkway. "Look at me! Weeeeee!" He let go of the handhold and waved both arms in the air, as if he were on a roller coaster ride at Disneyland.

Remo was a little more restrained. "Do you know where Chiun's trunks are?" he asked Harry in a long-suffering tone.

"Baggage claim is at the end of this concourse," Harry said, pointing further ahead. "Remus and I will meet you there."

"Great," Remo said, as Harry and Remus walked on ahead.

At the baggage claim an entire carousel was loaded with Chiun's trunks. Remo called over a couple of porters, showed them the claim tickets for them, then pulled out two hundred-pound notes. The porters eyed them greedily.

Remo tore the bills in half and handed each of them half of one. "We need to get these trunks into taxis going to the Savoy," he said. "And I'm not kidding when I say, if there's even a small scratch on one of them it's your ass. You'll get the other half of these bills when we're ready to leave."

They had to pass through Customs on the way out, but their passports were all in order (one of the perks of Remo working for a super-secret American organization like CURE, Harry thought amusedly) and another hundred pounds handed to the customs official helped smooth their way through the line. The porters had loaded the trunks (carefully!) onto trucks and wheeled them outside to a line of waiting taxis. They negotiated with seven taxis drivers — two to carry two passengers each, and five more for the trunks.

They had to go through this every time Chiun went somewhere. He _always_ brought his trunks with him. Over the years Harry and Remo had talked him down from the 20 he used to insist were necessary for any journey to 14, but he wouldn't go any lower. "The Master of Sinanju will not be denied his belongings," Chiun would intone, and that would end the discussion.

The trunks were finally loaded, under Chiun's watchful eye, and Remo handed the porters the other half of their 100-pound notes. The two men walked off chattering excitedly about their tips; Harry thought they were fortunate nothing had gone wrong with the trunks or they would be singing a different tune, probably from an ambulance as they were rushed to the emergency room. The convoy of taxis started off for the Savoy, where the exercise was repeated in reverse as luggage carriers were (again, carefully) loaded and wheeled into the Savoy. Remo and Chiun would wait here while Harry and Remus went to Hogsmeade to talk to McGonagall and to arrange accommodations with the Three Broomsticks proprietor, who Remus said was named Madam Rosemerta, for rooms for Remo and Chiun.

For the next _ten months_. Harry sighed. He was an adult now, dammit! He didn't need either Remo or Chiun hovering over him as if he was still a child incapable of taking care of himself. He and Chiun had argued over this for most of August, with Chiun trying to dissuade Harry from leaving New York and Harry refusing to give in and stay.

Finally, just as Harry had been preparing to leave to take his international exams at the Salem Institute a week ago, Chiun seemed to capitulate. "Harry, you are right. You are of age now and I should not tell you what you can or cannot do or where you choose to go."

Harry had been taken aback for a moment. "Thank you, Little Father," he had said, happy that Chiun had finally become gracious about it. "I appreciate that."

"And similarly, I do not expect you to tell me that I cannot go where I will," Chiun went on.

"Of course not," Harry agreed. The Master of Sinanju was subject only to his own will and the orders of his client. And sometimes not even those, if they weren't in the best interest of Sinanju.

"Therefore, I will travel with you to this Hogsbreath," Chiun announced.

"Say what?" Harry sputtered, stunned.

"I will accompany you," Chiun said again. "And so will Remo, to continue your training. At least, until he decides to run off and do some pointless errand for the Mad Emperor Smith."

"Chiun, that's my job you're talking about," Remo said shortly. "Do I tell you how to be the Master of Sinanju?"

"Does the shoe tell the foot where to walk?" Chiun said, finding that very funny. "Heh, heh, heh."

"Yeah, hilarious," Remo had retorted, sourly.

Now, at the hotel, Remo watched as the porters and cabbies unloaded the trunks, hoping that nothing would happen to provoke Chiun. He had given each porter and taxi driver half a fifty-pound note along with the standard admonition that any damage to a trunk would have serious repercussions, and a promise they'd receive the other half of the bill if everything went smoothly.

So far, no one had died. But the day wasn't over yet.

In the lobby of the Savoy, Harry had checked them in and brought the key cards out to give to Remo. He'd also checked the time and they had about five minutes to get to Hogsmeade to be there on time. "We're heading to Remus's appointment," he told the elder Master. "I'll get you and Chiun rooms at Three Broomsticks; it's the best pub in town."

"Okay, good," Remo nodded. "I'll call Smitty and let him know when we get settled in there."

Harry and Remus both chuckled. "You better call him now," Harry said. "There are no phones around Hogsmeade for at least twenty miles."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Remo muttered. "How am I going to keep in touch with upstairs?" Harry shrugged. "Great," Remo groaned. "Thanks a lot, kid."

"We can work something out, I'm sure," Harry said, before Remo could turn away. "I can get you to someplace with phone service, like Carrbridge, or Iverness."

When Remo just shrugged Harry did the same and walked away from the Savoy with Remus. "He's pissed off," Harry said when they were far enough away to be sure Remo couldn't hear.

"There's nothing you can do about it," Remus said, sympathetically. "Hogsmeade happens to be an all-wizarding village. It was founded in medieval times, perhaps as long ago as Hogwarts, around a thousand years ago."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. He wasn't happy when Remo was upset, but he really couldn't do anything about the phone situation except get Remo to someplace where there was a phone when he needed it. "Are you ready to Apparate to Hogsmeade?" he asked.

"It's a long way to Scotland," Remus mentioned. "Sure you don't want to use a Portkey?"

"I can make it," Harry said, indignant at the insinuation. "Besides, until I get my British Apparition license, technically I have to Side-Along with you, anyway."

"True," Remus agreed. He pointed to a nearby alley. "Shall we leave from there?" They went into the alley and Harry took out his Invisibility Cloak, throwing it over the two of them. It was a bit cramped with two adult men under there but it would still be workable. Harry put his hand on Remus's arm.

"Whenever you're ready," Harry said, and Remus Apparated.

They appeared on one of Hogsmeade's less-traveled streets, near the front of a place called the Hog's Head Inn. Remus tapped Harry on the arm and pointed to a small gap between buildings. They moved into the gap and took off Harry's Cloak, then walked out to the street.

"Three Broomsticks is on the main street," Remus said, pointing, and they walked briskly out of the side street and up towards the inn.

Remus slowed down a bit as they neared the place. "Don't tell anyone who you are," he cautioned. "At least, not until I've had a chance to talk to McGonagall." Harry nodded and they entered the shop one at a time, Harry first.

Harry looked around as he entered the pub. At first glance it was a slightly nicer version of the Leaky Cauldron; it smelled less of beer and alcohol than it did of smoke. There were a number of tables and a bar, with stairs leading to an upper level where there were sleeping accommodations, Remus had told him. Harry walked over to the bar and sat down to wait. Behind him, Remus entered and walked straight toward the back, where Harry could see a doorway to a separate area. As he passed the bar a statuesque, dark-haired woman came out of the kitchen with a tray of clean glasses. She saw Remus and he caught her eye, nodding before he continued toward the room in the back. That was probably where McGonagall had arranged for them to meet, Harry guessed.

The woman put the tray under the bar and walked over to where Harry sat. "Afternoon," she said, with a businesslike smile that Harry nevertheless appreciated. She was nice and curvy, just like a barmaid should be, Harry thought.

"Hi," he greeted her. "May I have a glass of water, please? No ice, just room temperature."

"Certainly," the woman said. She produced a tall glass from beneath the bar and pointed her wand at it. Water poured from the tip of her wand, filling the glass, and she set it in front of him. "There you are."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking a sip. The water was fresh and clear, like most magically-produced water was if _Aguamenti_ was cast correctly.

"I don't think I've seen you before," the woman said, flashing another smile at him. "If you don't know, I'm Madam Rosemerta, the owner of Three Broomsticks." She offered him her hand, holding his a little longer than was necessary for a first meeting.

He was used to stuff like that now; for the last year or so, ever since his last growth spurt, woman had been noticing him more and more. Remo said it was a side-effect of Sinanju — women were instinctively drawn to powerful, confident men and Masters of Sinanju were among the most powerful men in the world. Remo told him he would soon start having to turn down propositions almost everywhere he went.

"Pleased to meet you, Rosemerta," he said, as she finally released his hand. "I'm — Remo Williams." He grinned inwardly at his private joke: that was Remo's old name from his days growing up in New Jersey as an orphan.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Williams," Rosemerta said. Harry watched as her pupils dilated slightly. "So, um, do you have some business in our fair little town or are you just passing through?"

"Actually, I was thinking of getting a couple of rooms here," Harry said. "My father and I will be staying here while someone we know attends Hogwarts this fall."

"Really?" Rosemerta glanced around, then leaned closer to Harry. "I'm starting to wonder whether the school is going to stay open until next summer or not," she whispered.

"Why is that?" Harry whispered back, playing along.

"There are rumors that — well, You-Know-Who is becoming too powerful for the Ministry to stop anymore," Rosemerta spoke very quietly. "It's rumored he'll shut down the school once he's in power."

Harry shook his head. "I think he wants the school to keep running. He can keep track of wizarding students easier if they're all in the same place."

"Ah," the barmaid looked surprised at that. "I hadn't thought of it that way. You may be right," she agreed.

"Now, about those rooms," Harry suggested.

"Of course." Rosemerta turned to a board behind the bar with a number of old-fashioned keys hanging from hooks with numbers under them. "How about 110 and 112? They're next to each other near the front of the inn. Not much of a view but I can let you have them for 12 Sickles a day each."

Harry was working out the math in his head. At 30 days per month for the next 10 months, that was 7200 Sickles, or … around 423 Galleons for the whole school year. "I want the rooms to the end of June," he said. "Will that be alright?"

"Uh, certainly!" Rosemerta smiled at him. "You plan to stay here all that time?" she asked, a sultry look coming over her features. Sure, the kid was young, but so what? She'd been young herself, once upon a time, and she'd had her share of older men. Maybe it was her turn now to be with someone younger than her.

Harry was nodding. "Remo Williams will be staying in those rooms," he agreed. He reached into his pocket where he kept a pouch that he and Remus had magically expanded internally. There was an ample supply of wizarding money there that Remus had gotten out of Gringotts for him while he'd been taking his tests in Salem. Harry quickly counted out and dropped 450 Galleons onto the bar. "The extra is just in case," he said.

"In case of what?" Rosemerta asked, wondering what he might mean.

"Oh, just in case there are any unanticipated expenses," Harry shrugged. With Chiun and Remo living here, there were bound to be situations no one could anticipate! Rosemerta shrugged and took the coins, passing Harry two keys and a parchment receipt for the payment. "Many thanks, my lady," Harry said gallantly. Rosemerta smothered a giggle with her hand.

A small parchment bird was suddenly flying around Harry's head. He reached up and caught it, unfolded and read,

* * *

_Harry —_  
_I'm ready for you to meet McGonagall. Please come to the back room._  
_Remus_

* * *

Harry stood. "Thank you for the rooms," he said. "I'm sure I'll see you again soon." Though the Remo Williams you meet next won't be the one you're expecting. He walked into the back room, where Remus was seated at a table with McGonagall.

The old gal looked as stern and as formidable as ever, Harry thought. Now she had the entire weight of Hogwarts on her shoulders. Harry wondered how she was holding up under that. And now they were about to throw her a gigantic curve ball. Harry could sense a sphere of privacy in the room, which Remus was expanding to include him.

McGonagall nodded at Harry as he approached the table. "Mr. Lupin said he wanted to introduce someone to me," she said, crisply. "I'm Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Hello, Professor," Harry gave her a slight bow. "Do you recognize me?"

"Should I?" McGonagall asked, staring at him carefully. "You seem a bit familiar, young man, but I don't believe we've met."

"Headmistress," Remus said, gesturing toward Harry. "I would like to reintroduce to you, Mr. Harry Potter."

McGonagall's eyes widened in shock. "That canna be!" she said, her Scottish brogue thickening. "Harry Potter is dead!"

Harry sat down at the table with them. "_Someone_ is dead," he said. "But not me. You weren't aware that Dumbledore was having me impersonated?"

"Impersonated?" McGonagall's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "If this is some kind of elaborate prank, Remus," she said to Lupin. "You, James and Sirius were quite the pranksters in your day. If that's what this is about, it's in very poor taste."

"It's no prank, Headmistress," Remus said, seriously. "If anyone was being deceived, it was the school and all of wizarding Britain, by Albus Dumbledore." He quickly explained about Harry leaving Privet Drive at the end of his first year, and Dumbledore's efforts to cover it up.

"I don't know all the details, of course," Remus concluded. "Albus is unfortunately no longer with us, to give us the complete story. But if 'Harry Potter' died at the end of the last school year, then that wasn't really him, I'm relieved to say."

"This is rather extraordinary," McGonagall said, almost to herself. She looked at Harry. "And now you want to return to Hogwarts, to complete your final year?"

"I was actually only at Hogwarts one year, Headmistress," Harry pointed out.

"This is most irregular, Mr. Potter! I don't even have any of your school records. Where have you attended school until now?"

"Remus has been my personal tutor for the past five years," Harry said. "I also just completed the international wizard's tests at Salem Institute in America. Remus should have the results from them within a week."

McGonagall managed to look impressed. "If that's true, then you can get apply for a job anywhere in the world. Why do you need to attend Hogwarts?"

"I suppose I don't," Harry agreed. "But I might want to work in Britain, and for that I need my N.E.W.T.s. The Ministry has decreed that no one can take their N.E.W.T.s next spring unless they attend Hogwarts this fall. So here I am.

"And as far as returning to Hogwarts goes," Harry added. "It will be interesting to see everyone again. Plus —" he leaned forward, looking into McGonagall's eyes. "There's the matter of Voldemort terrorizing Britain. He needs to be stopped."

McGonagall closed her eyes, shuddering at the mention of the name. "So you plan to help us?" she whispered. Harry nodded. "Good," she said. "I've been afraid since Albus left us that we no longer had a chance to win."

"So that's settled, then," Remus said briskly. "Now, about that Defense position — you were about to tell me something about it when I brought Harry in here."

"Ah, yes." McGonagall sat up straighter, composing herself and looking at Remus directly again. "I was going to tell you, Mr. Lupin, that I am sorry, but the position has already been filled."

"What?" both Harry and Remus said. Remus nearly jumped out of his chair in shock. "I wanted to be here teaching while Harry was attending this year! Who did you give it to?" Remus demanded.

"I'm afraid I cannot divulge that information at this moment —" McGonagall began, stiffly, but a motion at the doorway distracted her. A hooded figure stood framed in the door, his features made indistinct by some spell. Remus and Harry's wands were both out. Remus dropped the privacy sphere so he could speak to whoever had interrupted them.

"What do you want?" Remus asked curtly, his wand at the ready. "Drop your Obscuration Charm!"

The man passed a hand in front of himself. The hood fell back as the charm dissipated, revealing a fair, handsome face, prematurely lined with age, and long black hair. "It's me, Moony," he said, in a quiet but strong voice. "I took the Defense position."

"Merlin!" Remus exclaimed. "_You_!"


	6. Sirius Returns

.

**Chapter Six**

**Sirius Returns**

_First updated 9/19/2014 _

**=ooo=**

Remus leaped to his feet, striding over to the man who stood in the doorway and grasping him by both arms like greeting a long-lost brother. "Sirius, you're here!" he said, beaming happily at his fellow Marauder.

Sirius Black gave his old friend Remus a huge smile. "Of course I'm here," he said, taking Remus's arms as well, so both men were almost in an embrace. He nodded toward Harry. "When I heard Harry had been killed I wanted to find you but I —"

"Hold on a second," Remus suddenly let go of Sirius's arms and took a step back. "Where the hell have you _been_ all these years?" he demanded. "The last I heard, you were released from Azkaban back in December of '92!"

"I was," Sirius nodded. "And I was a mess, as you might imagine."

Remus nodded soberly. Azkaban, the wizards' prison located somewhere in the North Sea, was a grim and foreboding place, full of misery, despair and death. The prison was overseen by Aurors from the Ministry, but the prisoners themselves were guarded by Dementors; foul, dark creatures that literally sucked happiness, hope and magic from your mind and body, making it almost impossible to have any positive thoughts there, much less plan and execute an escape. "What did you do when you got out? I told Dumbledore to have you contact me straightaway as soon as you were free. Harry and I —" Remus nodded toward Harry, who was now standing as well, "— have been anxious to see you again."

"Dumbledore did tell me that," Sirius nodded slowly. "He didn't tell me Harry was with you, though." Remus and Harry both frowned. Sirius paused, took a deep breath and continued, "I was a mess, as I said. I needed time to recover. I think Dumbledore wanted me to ask you to return to Britain and help me. I can see now what he really wanted." His expression darkened. "He wanted to get Harry back to Britain."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. The more he learned about Dumbledore, the less he thought of the man. The old wizard had manipulated nearly everyone Harry knew in the wizarding world in his efforts to bring Harry back under his control. Remus had told Harry that Sirius was his godfather, but Harry had never met the man until today. "Sirius…" he said, holding out his hand as he moved toward his godfather.

"Harry!" Sirius ignored Harry outstretched hand and pulled Harry into a hug. "Merlin, it's good to see you again! I've thought a lot about you in the past four years!" He held Harry at arm's length as Remus had held him. "You remind me so much of your dad! You've grown quite a bit since I saw your picture in the _Prophet_, during that Tri-Wizard Tournament Hogwarts had a few years back."

"That wasn't me," Harry said, shortly. "I was in America, learning magic from Remus and training in Sinanju."

"I'd like to hear all about that," Sirius told him. "And I want to tell the two of you what I've been doing for the past five years. Neither of you ought to think I didn't want to see you, but…" he trailed off, seemingly embarrassed, then turned to McGonagall, as if just remembering she was there.

"Headmistress," he said. "I'm very happy to have the Defense position, but surely there is something Remus could teach at Hogwarts this fall as well."

Minerva had been watching the reunion of Black and Lupin with a sense of nostalgia and a fondness for the two young men. It was good to see them together again — when the two of them had contacted her separately about the Defense position, she couldn't resist the temptation to have them both show up in Three Broomsticks around the same time. "In fact," she said happily, "I was about to offer Remus the Transfiguration position. I haven't been able to fill that one since I was only made Headmistress a month ago and I haven't had any suitable candidates apply. I think Mr. Lupin here will make a quite satisfactory Transfiguration professor. _If_ the offer is acceptable to you," she added.

"It is," Remus agreed gladly. "I accept the offer, Headmistress."

"Splendid!" McGonagall beamed. "We can sign the necessary paperwork on the first day of class, after the start-of-term feast. I will make arrangements to have your salary placed in your vault on the first of each month, starting in September, if you will give me the number."

"Hmm, well," Remus murmured, a bit abashed. "I'm afraid I didn't maintain a vault at Gringotts since I've been out of country for so long."

"If it's alright with you I can arrange a standard Gringotts vault in your name," Minerva suggested. "I will provide you the key when we sign your paperwork."

"Thank you," Remus said gratefully. "That is very much appreciated, Headmistress."

McGonagall managed a small smile at that. "Feel free to call me Minerva from now on," she told him. "And you as well, Sirius." She glanced at Harry. "Although," she added sternly. "Not in front of the students."

"Thank you, Minerva," Remus said, with an amused glance at Harry. Sirius merely gave McGonagall a crooked smile.

Harry smiled mischievously. "May I call you Minerva when we're not with other students?" he asked, cheekily.

Minerva raised an eyebrow at that. Harry was certainly different now than he'd been five years ago! "I think we should work into that, Mr. Potter," she said, keeping her voice stern. "However, I am delighted you will be attending Hogwarts once again this year. I should ask, since I have you here: will you be taking the Hogwarts Express to school this year?"

"We're already in Hogsmeade," Harry demurred. "I've got rooms for my father and brother, they'll be coming here tomorrow from London."

McGonagall looked confused. "I don't understand," she said, frowning. "Your father and brother?"

"Chiun and Remo," Harry amplified. "They took me from the Dursleys when I returned home after first year."

"I see…" Apparently that was what impelled Albus to bring substitute Harry Potters into the school. "But why did they take you in the first place?"

"It has something to do with a prophecy about me killing Voldemort," Harry said. McGonagall caught her breath. Albus had made allusions to such a prophecy, but had never told her the complete details beyond the necessity of Harry being the one to defeat Voldemort.

McGonagall stood. "I would like to talk with you more about that prophecy, Mr. Potter," she said, her demeanor turning serious. "But I must return to Hogwarts now, to prepare for the students' arrival tomorrow. Please report to the school by eight p.m. tomorrow evening. We will begin the Sorting Ceremony and the start-of-term feast then."

"Thank you, Headmistress," Harry, Remus and Sirius all replied, and McGonagall left the room, leaving the three men alone.

"Right, then," Sirius said, clapping his hands together briskly. "I want to hear all about what the two of you have been doing for the past five years."

**=ooo=**

"I wish you had tried to contact me, Sirius," Remus said hours later. The three of them were still seated around the table where they'd reunited after nearly 16 years. Sirius had been telling him and Harry about his life after getting out of Azkaban. "It must've been awful for you, all alone like that."

Sirius shrugged, taking another drink from his bottle of butterbeer. "You might be right, Moony," he murmured. "I suppose I wasn't thinking too clearly back then." After his release from Azkaban, Sirius had returned to number 12 Grimmauld Place, his parents' home that had sat vacant since his mother Walburga's death in 1985. "Our old house-elf Kreacher was still there taking care of the place. He took care of me, though he wasn't awfully happy about it at first. But we sort of got used to each other after a while," Sirius shrugged.

"Mother has a portrait of herself hanging in the hallway there," he went on. "She wasn't very happy to see me, either." He laughed with dark humor. "I had Kreacher put up curtains in front of her so I wouldn't have to look at her."

"Why didn't you just take the portrait down?" Remus asked.

"Permanent Sticking Charm," Sirius muttered. "My magic was weak when I first got there, and Kreacher refused to remove it." He drained the bottle of butterbeer. "It wouldn't be a problem now," he went on. "But the old gal doesn't act up much anymore, and it makes Kreacher happy to polish her frame every day, so I don't mind. Besides, starting tomorrow I'll be out of the house for a while."

"You look fine," Harry agreed, sipping from his glass of water. "And now you'll be teaching Defense at Hogwarts. How did you manage to recover from Azkaban? Remus tells me hardly anyone survived longer than you did there. I hope you don't mind me saying so, but it sounds you should be dead after eleven years in that place."

Sirius glanced at Remus. "You never told him, did you?"

"No," Remus replied. "It wasn't my place to tell him. I figured you would, if we ever met."

"Tell me what?" Harry wanted to know.

Sirius took out his wand and flicked it, erecting a privacy sphere. "I'm an Animagus, Harry," he said without preamble. "My form is a Grim, a large black dog that many wizards consider to be an omen of death. In that form, it was harder for the Dementors to sense my presence since my human thoughts and emotions are diminished. They couldn't drain me of happiness and magic as easily. Usually, they just thought of me as some stray animal and left me alone.

"It was still horrible being in there, mind you," Sirius continued. "I had to return to human form when guards came by. Mostly they just brought food once a day, and every month or so threw a blanket in the room to cover up with on cold nights. Azkaban is built from steel, so the cold seeps into the cells. As a Grim, I'm more resistant to cold, so I managed to stay alive all those years."

Harry was shaking his head as he listened to this. But he was also thinking about Sirius's Animagus form. "I'm not sure I've heard of a Grim before," Harry said, looking at Remus. "Did we ever discuss them?"

"We did," Remus nodded. "Around the time you were going through Grade Three of the Standard Book of Spells. I talked about the Grim as we were going through _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. Ironically, Scamander never mentioned them in his book, perhaps because he considered them more of a portent of death than an actual beast. In Muggle folklore it's called a Black Shuck or a Cù Sìth."

Harry laughed. Sirius looked nonplussed. "What's funny about that?" he demanded.  
"Oh, just that last name reminded me of Darth Vader, who was a Dark Lord of the Sith," Harry chuckled.

Sirius looked at Remus. "I never heard of a Dark Lord of the Sith," he said, confused. "Which wizard was that?"

Remus was smiling. "It's a Muggle movie Harry likes," he said.

"Oh." Sirius looked at Harry, then shrugged. "Well, anyway, did Moony also tell you I was a Hit Wizard for the Ministry before they threw me in Azkaban?"

"He mentioned that, I remember," Harry nodded. "They're like Aurors, right?"

"More or less," Sirius agreed. "You need five N.E.W.T.s with Exceeds or better to be an Auror, including Defense Against the Dark Arts. I only had four N.E.W.T.s so I didn't qualify."

"You could have sat your N.E.W.T. in Potions," Remus pointed out, a bit critically.

"Right, like I wanted to have anything to do with something Snivellus thought he was Merlin's gift to wizardkind at," Sirius growled.

"Who's Snivellus?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Snape, who else?" Sirius replied distastefully. "He was a thorn in our sides at Hogwarts, James and me. And Moony's too, though he steered clear of you after that incident in the Shrieking Shack."

"Why do you keep calling Remus 'Moony'?" Harry wanted to know.

Sirius gave Harry an amused look. "I assume you know about his 'furry little problem,' don't you?" Harry nodded, then realized what Sirius was referring to: the full moon.

"We all had nicknames," Remus amplified. "Together we called ourselves the Marauders."

"What was yours?" Harry asked Sirius.

"Padfoot," Sirius answered. "It's another name for the Grim."

"We called your father Prongs," Remus told Harry, who nodded. Remus had already told him his father was a stag Animagus.

"Peter's nickname was Wormtail," Remus went on. "By the way, Sirius, I should have mentioned this earlier — Peter is dead."

Sirius's expression didn't change. "Oh he is, huh?" he said, as if Remus had just informed him he'd trod on a bug and killed it.

Remus nodded. "Sorry for springing it on you like that — I wasn't sure how you were going to take it."

"Excuse me if I don't tear up," Sirius muttered. "How'd the little rat get it?"

"He was trying to kill Harry," Remus explained. "Master Chiun killed him before he could do it, though."

"Saves me the trouble, then," Sirius said with satisfaction. "I'd like to meet this Master Chiun," he added. "And Remo, too. So you say they've been training you in Sinanju, Harry? What is that, like some martial art?"

"Not just some martial art," Harry said. "It is _the_ martial art, the sun source of every other martial art in history. Everything from ninjutsu to karate to tai chi can be traced back to Sinanju."

"That's quite a boast," Sirius commented.

"It's fact," Harry insisted. "For thousands of years the Masters of Sinanju have been the world's leading assassins."

"Among Muggles," Sirius suggested. "But no Muggle assassin, no matter how skillful, could take on a fully-qualified wizard, especially an Auror or a Hit Wizard, and expect to win."

Remus sat back in his chair with a low whistle, wondering how Harry would respond. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Sirius growled. "You don't really think a Muggle could beat a wizard, do you Moony?"

"You've never seen Harry in action," Remus reminded him. "_I_ wouldn't go up against him."

"You were never trained to be a Hit Wizard, either," Sirius pointed out.

"I'm sure the Ministry wouldn't have allowed me to become one, anyway," Remus reminded him. "The wizarding community would never have accepted a werewolf as a Hit Wizard, much less an Auror."

"Regardless," Sirius turned to Harry. "Want to show me what you can do, pup?"

There was a grin at the corner of his godfather's mouth, Harry saw, but otherwise he looked serious. Harry smiled to himself at the unintentional pun, but the challenge seemed to be in earnest. "Sure, if you're up for it," Harry agreed, standing.

Remus was on his feet as well. "Where should we go?" he asked. "The Shrieking Shack, it isn't far from here."

"Nah," Sirius said, getting to his feet. He strode to the middle of the room. "Watch the door, Moony." Sirius waved his wand.

The tables and chairs in the room began moving on their own. They slid toward the walls, and tables began flipping upside-down, landing on other tables, while chairs leapt up, stacking themselves between the legs of the upturned tables. In a few moments the room was clear of obstructions.

Sirius backed up a few steps, gesturing for Harry to join him. "Right," he said. "So I'm the Dark Lord Blackgrim, and you've got to apprehend me."

"Dead or alive?" Harry asked, smiling.

"Oho," Sirius grinned. "Confident, aren't you, godson? Well, I'm giving you a huge advantage — we're only about ten feet apart. Most Dark Lords wouldn't allow you to get that close to them. Now, this Sinanju that you use, it isn't magic, is it?"

"No," Harry said. "Sinanju is Sinanju."

"Meaningless tautology aside, do you think you can take me with it?" Sirius asked again. Harry nodded. "We'll see about that," the older wizard smiled knowingly. He'd been training himself hard for the past five years, getting back into shape after nearly wasting away in Azkaban. "I apologize in advance for what I'm about to do, Harry. And remember, a real Dark Lord wouldn't go nearly as easy on you."

"Use whatever spells you want," Harry said. "Just don't hit Remus."

"Don't worry," Sirius said, with a wicked grin. "Go!"

The first Stunner came immediately, Sirius casting it nonverbally, going for a headshot. Harry simply moved his head, letting the spell fly past and impact the wall behind him. "Nice move," Sirius commented, then sent two more Stunners in quick succession, this time aimed at Harry's body. Harry, anticipating them, moved out of their way, closing the gap between him and Sirius. To make this more interesting Harry decided stay in Sirius's pattern — he wanted his godfather to see him coming the entire time.

Sirius, seeing the two short-range Stunners miss their mark, went into full Hit Wizard mode. He began casting Impediment Jinxes, Banishing Charms, and Stinging Hexes as well as Stunners at Harry. But Harry somehow kept dodging them, moving closer and closer as he did! Within moments he was almost within arm's reach of Sirius.

"_Stuporfy_!" Sirius shouted, casting verbally as Harry closed the gap between them. The red bolt erupted from his wand, but even at point-blank range Harry had no difficulty anticipating its path and moving to one side.

Then the stun-bolt did a strange thing. As it whizzed past the side of his head the bolt suddenly _changed direction_, heading for Harry's ear. It was still in his pattern, though, and Harry's body reacted as the bolt moved toward him. His head twisted, moving out of the way of the bolt. Almost.

The bolt tagged Harry's ear, numbing it and weakening him even as Harry's hand shot out, gripping clusters of nerves around Sirius's solar plexus. Sirius gasped as pain suddenly radiated outward from his stomach to his head, arms and legs. He crumpled to the floor. Harry staggered, holding his ear in surprise as he forced the beta cells in his pancreas to create more insulin, converting glucose in his bloodstream into energy to combat the weakness. "What the hell was _that_?" he asked, looking at Remus.

"I don't know," Remus replied, staring at Sirius on the floor. Sirius's mouth was open in a silent scream as pain surged through him. Harry bent down, manipulating nerves in his stomach and chest, releasing the pain. Sirius sagged as the pain left him, then sat up a few moments later.

"Merlin's balls," he panted. "That _hurt_. What'd you _do_ to me, Harry? That was almost as bad as the Cruciatus!"

"Nerve jam," Harry said, holding out a hand to help Sirius up. "It turns on all the pain receptors in your nervous system." Sirius looked at Harry's hand but waved him off for a few moments as he breathed deeply, getting his strength back. "It's similar to what the Cruciatus does, but it's not as painful since it's not using your magical energy to power itself. It hurts like shit, but it probably won't drive you insane. Now what was that spell you used on me?"

"Help me up." Harry offered his hand again and Sirius got to his feet. "It's a Swerving Stunner," he said. "It's taught to Aurors and Hit Wizards as a special offensive spell. It's similar to a Stunner but if the target avoids it the first time, it will change direction _once_ to retarget. I don't know how you managed to dodge it, I cast it at point-blank range."

"You didn't miss," Harry said, touching his ear. "But it just barely tagged me, I was able to recover without being Stunned. And that was the closest you came to actually getting me," he added, pointedly. He didn't mention that if Chiun or Remo heard he'd gotten tagged with a wizard's spell he'd be given extra training for _weeks_ to atone for his slip-up.

"I guess this Sinanju stuff is pretty good, then," Sirius admitted.

"And I'm just an apprentice," Harry reminded him. "_And_ I'm your godson, so I went easy on you. I suggest you _don't_ try to get in a duel with Remo or Chiun."

"Owl received," Sirius nodded. He bent forward, hands on knees, breathing deeply a few times to recover his wind. With that nerve jam on him even breathing had hurt. Feeling better, he stood again. "I'm going to head back to London now," he said. "But I'll be back at Hogwarts around three or so tomorrow, to move into quarters and get my classroom ready." He reached out and he and Remus shook hands warmly. "I'll see you tomorrow, Moony. And you too, pup." He took Harry's hand then pulled him forward into a half-hug, which Harry returned, then waved and walked out of the room, putting up his hood as he walked through the pub and out the front door.

"Well, _that_ was a surprise," Harry commented after Sirius left. "You didn't know he was going to be here?" he asked Remus.

"Not a clue," Remus said. "McGonagall never mentioned anything about another applicant for the Defense position, much less that it was Sirius. But I'm glad he finally decided to leave Grimmauld Place after all those years of hiding there."

"I am, too," Harry agreed. "It should make for an interesting final year at Hogwarts with the two of you there," he beamed at Remus.

Remus nodded. "Now all we need is for Snape to show up and ask for his old Potions position."

Harry laughed, though there was a dark edge to his laughter. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to the next time I see Severus Snape."

"I don't doubt that," Remus said, "but I was just joking about Snape coming back."

"I wasn't."

Remus shuddered, wondering what Harry had in store for the Slytherin when they met. "We should get back ourselves, I have a bit of preparation to do before tomorrow."

Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. "Rosemerta doesn't need to see us leave," he said. "Come on." Stepping next to Remus, he covered them both with the Cloak, then Harry stepped into the pattern of the other patrons in the bar and navigated their way through without bumping into anyone. The door opened as they got nearer, an older witch walking in, and they stepped out of her way and slipped through the door as it went shut. A moment later the two of them Disapparated, on their way back to London.

**=ooo=**

_1 September 1997  
__King's Cross Station, Platform 9¾_

Hermione arrived at King's Cross almost a half-hour before eleven; enough time, she hoped, to get things sorted with the other prefects and have a chance to talk privately with Ron before the trip to Hogwarts began.

Harry Potter was _not_ dead. The body in the tomb at Hogwarts had not been him. She and Ron had exchanged many letters over the past month trying to deduce who might have taken his place and ended up dead by the end of the last school year. She had poured over issues of the _Prophet_ for June, July and August, searching out any indication, any clue about a witch or wizard who had gone missing or turned up dead.

Lots of people had gone missing or dead, but they were victims of Voldemort and Death Eater attacks, she remembered grimly. Things were not going well for those who followed the light. It was disheartening except for the fact that Harry really wasn't dead; there was a hope that he would return and deal with Voldemort. Though, Hermione had to admit to herself, Ron was right when he pointed out that if Harry hadn't come back by now he probably wasn't interested in their plight. That meant they were on their own, and they were losing.

She walked through the train from the prefects' carriage to the end, making sure everything was in order. Even though the train did not have that many carriages, there was always enough seating to accommodate every student who rode the Express to Hogwarts. She made sure each compartment was ready and empty except for the other few students who'd arrived early and had already taken seats. The first-years were always eager, she thought to herself — or afraid of being late and left behind.

She was looking forward to seeing her friends again. Ron, of course, her fellow Gryffindor prefect; she only hoped he wouldn't try to rekindle a relationship with her this year after their talk in his brothers' shop a week ago. He'd made some comments that made her think he was still carrying a torch for her, but that fire was out as far as she was concerned. Ginny would be back for her sixth year, along with her friend Luna Lovegood, from Ravenclaw. Luna was a bit of an odd duck, but she was very intelligent, Hermione had discovered over the past few years. Among her fellow students there was Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati and her twin Padma, and quite a few others. And there was Neville, who'd become a good friend to her over the years; very knowledgeable about Herbology, and he'd improved quite a bit in Potions once Snape left it to become the Defense professor.

There were a few changes in store for the Hogwarts staff this year. Professor McGonagall had become Headmistress, a promotion Hermione felt was richly deserved. And with Snape gone now, Professor Slughorn would stay in the Potions position at least another year. They'd had some interesting discussions in the old professor's Slug Club meetings the previous year, but Hermione had never felt really comfortable having the Slytherin professor cultivate relationships with so many students. It felt a bit like being used.

The only unknowns right now were the Defense and Transfiguration positions, unless Headmistress McGonagall decided to continue teaching her old subject, which Hermione doubted. That was just too much to take on, even for McGonagall! The books for seventh year Defense and Transfiguration hadn't changed, and Hermione had already read them a few years ago, so she was well prepared for whoever would be teaching those subjects.

Back in the prefects' carriage, Hermione found most of the other prefects had arrived. She nodded to Ron, who smiled and nodded back to her. Would he have the Head Boy badge, Hermione wondered. Probably not — Ron was a decent enough prefect, but he wasn't Head Boy material. Of the other three seventh-years, Blaise Zabini, the Slytherin prefect, probably was too much of a loner to be made Head Boy. Anthony Goldstein, in Ravenclaw, had a good chance, Hermione thought. In Hufflepuff there was Ernie Macmillan. Both he and Anthony had been members of Dumbledore's Army during their fifth year, both of them were quite capable students. No one but the person who'd received the Head Boy or Head Girl badge knew who had it; each year those two people revealed who they were on the Hogwarts Express, then took charge of the pre-Hogwarts prefects' meeting, laying out the duties and responsibilities of the prefects to the new fifth-years. In rare instances, the Head Boy or Girl wasn't a prefect; in that case it was customary for the prefects from the Head Boy or Girl's House to assume that duty for him or her.

"Ah, you're here, Granger," Ernie was saying, looking around the room to catch the others' attention. "Good. I think we're ready, why don't we get started? Ladies? Would you please —?"

He gestured for the seventh year female prefects to come forward to the Head Boy and Head Girl's table. Hermione joined Hannah Abbott, Padma Patil and Pansy Parkinson in front of the table. Hermione deliberately put on a serious face along with the other girls so as not to give away who the Head Girl would be; she hadn't even mentioned it to Ron, who sometimes couldn't resist relating a juicy bit of news to his friends. Or, anyone who would listen to him, really.

"All right, everyone," Ernie said loudly, waving his hands for silence as everyone continued to speculate on who'd been named Head Girl. "On the count of three, the four of you show us your badges, and we'll see which of you has the prestigious 'H' badge!" Ernie was clearly enjoying being the center of attention, Hermione thought, at least for the minute or so he had before turning things over to the Head Girl, who then brought the four male seventh-years up to announce the Head Boy. "One, two, _three_!"

All four badges came out. Hermione couldn't resist holding her Head Girl badge high above her head. The prefects' carriage broke out in gasps of surprise and applause as everyone saw who the Head Girl was.

"Well done, Miss Granger! Well done!" Ernie was applauding as well. The way he was smiling made Hermione wonder if he'd was the Head Boy. Well, she'd find out soon enough.

"Thank you, Mr. Macmillan," she said, formally. The other girls moved back with the other prefects, but not before Hermione saw Pansy give her a very dark look. She gave Pansy a sharp nod in return, refusing to be intimidated. "We will now reveal the Head Boy for this year at Hogwarts," she said. "If the seventh-year prefects will come forward, please."

Blaise, Ernie, Anthony and Ron stepped forward. Ron managed to maneuver himself closest to Hermione. Before he turned around to face the others, Ron gave her a solemn look and a slight shake of his head. So he hadn't made Head Boy, Hermione understood. And, since no one else was coming forward, it was down to Blaise, Ernie and Anthony, who were giving each other and Ron inquiring looks. _What did that mean_? Hermione wondered. "On the count of three, everyone show your badge. One, two, three…"

No one moved. "Three," Hermione repeated. When none of the male prefects pulled out their badge _that_ time she finally sighed in exasperation. "I know the rest of you are disappointed but that's no reason to prolong this —"

"Er, Hermione," Ron broke in, "I don't think any of us have the Head Boy badge. Do we?" Both Ernie and Anthony shook their heads. Blaise merely looked bored.

"Well, _somebody_ has to have it!" Hermione declared.

"_I_ have it," a familiar voice spoke from the carriage door. Standing in the doorway was Draco Malfoy, the Head Boy badge fastened to his robe, a triumphant smile on his pointed features. Behind him were his two Slytherin cohorts, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, looking larger and more intimidating than ever. The other prefects immediately burst into nervous, confused whispers as Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle strode to the front of the prefects' carriage.

"Malfoy?!" Ernie said sharply over the noise, and everyone stopped to hear what he would say. "I thought you were expelled!"

"Obviously not," Malfoy sneered. "What a stupid thing to say." Ernie reddened and started to reply when Crabbe brushed him back with a muscular arm. There were murmurs of protest from the other prefects but no one said anything. "So, Granger, looks like I'm in charge here." He turned to face the group, stepping in front of Hermione. "Anybody else got something stupid to say before I begin?"

"Only you, Malfoy," Ron growled, and Hermione nodded in agreement. This was ridiculous!

"How'd you even get to be Head Boy, anyway?" Ron continued. "You're not a prefect!" Hermione winced. She'd _told_ him —

"You don't have to be a prefect to be chosen Head boy, Weasley," Malfoy said, sneering at him. "I thought the bookworm would have told you that."

Hermione reddened at the reference.

"That can't be right," Ron said, frowning.

"Malfoy's right," Anthony said, reluctantly. "But," he continued, pointing an accusing finger at the Slytherin, "you were escorted from the castle by Snape, who we know was the Death Eater who killed Snape!"

"And how do you think you know that, Goldstein?" Malfoy asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"That's what Harry told Ernie as he ran past him, trying to catch you!" Anthony retorted angrily. Ernie nodded vigorously in agreement. "And we know you were responsible for the Death Eaters getting into the castle in the first place — the members of the Order who showed up to protect everyone said you let them in through the Vanishing Cabinet that used to sit above Filch's office!"

Malfoy laughed. "Is that all you've got?" he asked, incredulous. "You obviously don't have the whole story!"

"So what's the 'whole story,' then?" Ron challenged, clearly skeptical.

Malfoy smirked, and Hermione frowned in concentration, paying close attention as he began his explanation. "We were all in the common room. Goyle here —" he pointed at Gregory Goyle, standing to one side of him "— told me that Crabbe —" he nodded at Vincent Crabbe on his other side "— heard there was a Dark Mark floating above the Astronomy Tower and he'd gone to see it. I wanted him to stay with me, in case there was any trouble in our common room. But when Goyle tried to leave Professor Slughorn told him we were all to stay in the room. I said I'd go get him and bring him back. Slughorn didn't want me to leave but he let me go anyway.

"When I got near the Astronomy Tower there was a big fight going on," Draco continued. "I managed to get around them and went up to the top of the Tower, where I heard Dumbledore talking with someone through the door. I didn't recognize the voice so I thought it was a Death Eater." There were several snorts of disbelief but Draco kept talking. "Then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs behind me." Draco sighed, shaking his head. "I admit I got scared. I didn't know who was coming. I hid in the storeroom where the telescopes are kept."

"A likely story," Ernie said, shaking his head. There were murmurs of agreement from the other prefects.

"Keep listening," Draco demanded. "I don't know how long I was there, but I couldn't hear enough from the roof to figure out what was going on. After a while I decided to sneak back down the stairs, but I'd only gone a few steps before Professor Snape came running down the steps. He grabbed me and said, 'You shouldn't be here, Draco,' and pulled me down the stairs with him. I asked him what was going on but he didn't tell me.

"When we got to where the fight had been downstairs, we walked past the Order members who were there, then Snape told me to run. He still wouldn't tell me what was going on! We left the castle and he made me run for the gates. Hagrid came out of his hut and yelled at us to stop, but Snape said to keep running so I did. We ran out the front gates, then Snape took me to my parents and left without saying anything to me or them. I didn't find out about the charges against Professor Snape until my father received an order from the Board of Governors for me to attend an inquiry on the matter."

"What about the Vanishing Cabinet?" Anthony demanded.

"I don't know anything about it," Draco shrugged. "Anyway, wasn't it broken a few years ago when Peeves dropped it and caused a disturbance? I don't know what happened to it after that."

"You didn't know it was in the Room of Requirement?" Hermione spoke up.

Draco turned to her. "I know that was the place where Potter was holding illegal meetings during fifth year," he replied. "But the time we caught you in there was the only time I was inside it."

Hermione wasn't sure she believed that last part. They hadn't see much of Malfoy in their sixth year, Hermione remembered. Harry (or, actually, whoever was impersonating him!) had said at the end of fifth year that he was going to be watching Malfoy like a hawk, trying to catch him with a toe out of line. But during sixth year he virtually ignored Malfoy altogether. There must've been at least two different people impersonating Harry, she surmised.

"That doesn't sound very believable," Anthony Goldstein declared skeptically.

"The Board of Governors believed it," Malfoy said, with a smug smile. "They dismissed the inquiry against me with only a reprimand for going against Professor Slughorn's advice to stay in the common room."

"Then how'd you end up as Head Boy?" Ron threw in, belligerently. "Even if they didn't expel you they shouldn't have turned around and done that! Dumbledore would _never_ have made you Head Boy!"

"It wasn't up to Dumbledore," sneered Malfoy. "He never made any recommendations, either for the Head spots or the fifth-year prefects for this year. Professor Snape recommended me for Head Boy —" there were groans of disapproval around the room "— but since there's still an inquiry pending against him, they went to the senior Slytherin teacher to get his recommendations."

"Professor Slughorn," Hermione said softly. Professor Sinistra had been there longer than Slughorn, unless you counted his previous years at Hogwarts.

Draco's mouth twisted. "For some reason Slughorn chose Granger there for Head Girl, probably because she sucks up to him with that Slug Club nonsense, but he agreed with Professor Snape's choice for Head Boy." He grinned and put his thumbs in his lapels, pushing the Head Boy's badge forward. "So here I am. Anyone else have any more stupid questions?"

No one spoke for some time. Finally Pansy spoke up. "Well, I think it's wonderful that you're Head Boy, Draco!" She sent a withering glare at Hermione. "Too bad you can't pick your own Head Girl!"

"Don't worry," Draco said, and he leaned forward and took her hand, pulling her beside him. "It's going to be you and me making all the decisions this year, Pansy."

Pansy's scowl of disappointment was immediately replaced by a triumphant smile, directed at Hermione, as the other prefects began to shout their disapproval at Draco's breach of tradition. "Shut it, all of you!" Draco shouted, and Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward, pushing back those in front who were objecting. Anthony and Ernie were no match for Crabbe and Goyle, and even Ron had to back down as Crabbe raised a fist, threatening to punch him. Hermione pulled him back out of reach as Ron glowered impotently at the two hulking Slytherins.

"Right, then," Draco said, as Crabbe and Goyle stepped back to stand next to him and Pansy. "Here's how it's going to be this year —"

Malfoy went into a dissembling rant about blood purity and how important it was to the future of wizarding Britain, how everyone there should support it since blood purity was for the greater good of everyone, not just pure-bloods.

Hermione tuned it out, expecting it to be just more of Malfoy's posturing. He'd spent fifth year as Umbridge's golden child, harassing students she'd judged unfit to attend Hogwarts. Sixth year he'd been all but invisible, barely showing up in any of their shared classes. Now this year he seemed to have adopted his father's blood purity obsession.

"Can you believe this slimy git?" Ron whispered to her, jerking his head in Malfoy's direction. "Who does he think he's kidding with that stuff?"

"Nobody, probably," Hermione murmured. "At least, not in here. The only people listening to him are Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson — it doesn't look like the other Slytherins agree much with him either right now."

The younger Slytherin prefects were whispering amongst themselves, clearly trying to decide what they thought about the Head Boy's speech. Even Zabini was ignoring them, though he professed the same pure-blood superiority that Draco was espousing. Hermione couldn't hear the others' whispers but from their expressions and body language she guessed they were about evenly divided on the issue.

Malfoy's rant was winding down. "This is going to be an important year for Hogwarts," he was saying. "We have a new Head, and we've gotten rid of a lot of old, dead wood that was holding us back." Hermione could sense Ron bristle with anger at that. "We need to lead students in a new direction, one that will help everyone, not just a select few." He looked directly at Weasley. "People like Harry Potter, for example, who didn't care about anyone except his friends."

"That's a damn lie, Malfoy!" Ron shouted, lunging toward Malfoy only to be pushed back by Crabbe and Goyle. He drew his wand and the Slytherins did as well. "Take that back!" Ron demanded.

Malfoy had a calculating look on his sharp features. "I know you're upset, Weasley," he said smoothly, slowly lowering his wand, though Crabbe and Goyle's remained pointed at Ron. "You're distraught over the death of your friend…"

"That's what _you_ think, Malfoy," Ron laughed. "Harry's not dead!"

Malfoy shook his head as if sad, but there was a smirk on his face. "Come on. He's buried next to Dumbledore. We were all there, we all saw it."

"That wasn't Harry," Hermione broke in.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. It was one thing for Weasley to make wild claims, but Granger didn't say things she couldn't prove. "How would you know?" he demanded.

"I tested the remains," Hermione told him, and the room went silent. "The body in Harry's tomb isn't Harry — it's someone else."

"Who is it?" One of the other prefects, the sixth-year Slytherin girl, asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "But it didn't match the sample of Harry that I used to compare it against." She'd had Ron go over everything he'd had with him that first year with a fine tooth comb to find something with a bit of Harry in it. Ironically, it had been a comb that provided the material — they'd found a few of Harry's hair in one of Ron's combs. It hadn't been hard to distinguish Harry's black hair from Ron's red ones. And Ron had recognized the comb as one he'd lost at the end of first year, so they were virtually certain the hairs were Harry's.

Malfoy's already pale face had gone nearly white. "You're lying, Granger!" he accused her. "It's a trick to make us think Potter might still be alive!"

"You wish, Malfoy!" Ron sneered. "Hermione doesn't say things like that unless she's certain!"

Everyone looked at one another, thinking of what the implications might mean if Hermione was correct.

"I wondered what was wrong with him last year!" Hannah Abbott exclaimed. "He wasn't acting like himself at all!"

"But why was someone impersonating him in the first place?" Anthony Goldstein wondered. "What happened to Harry, why wasn't he here?"

"Maybe he was already dead last year," Pansy suggested viciously.

"You can't impersonate someone who's dead," Draco muttered, before Hermione could say anything. "Polyjuice doesn't work like that."

There was a sudden lurch as the train started to move forward. Hermione quickly checked the time. It was eleven o'clock already! All the prefects began to scatter to their assigned duties.

In the midst of the mad scramble, Hermione saw Draco take his seat at the Head Boy table, with Pansy seated in the Head Girl's seat. _Let her have it_, Hermione thought. _And him to go along with it_.

And they hadn't even introduced the new prefects or given them their duties on the Hogwarts Express! "Come on, Ron," Hermione said, her voice crisp. "Let's go get the fifth-years settled in their duties."

Ron nodded, pausing to throw a smoking glare over his shoulder at Malfoy, then followed Hermione to where the two fifth-year Gryffindors stood, looking lost.

**=ooo=**

_1 September 1997  
__The Savoy, London, UK_

It was three p.m. in London, Remo's internal clock told him, which meant that five hours earlier in New York it was 10 a.m., the time he was supposed to call Smitty on the first of each month. If it was a weekday, which it was, and if it was a month with an "R" in it, which it now was, being September first.

In that case, he was supposed to dial a particular 800 number: 827-1939, though if the numbers had any other significance he had forgotten what it was. Remo went down to the lobby, found an unused phone booth, and dialed the number, listening as the connection clicked, buzzed and beeped its way to Smith's phone. At 10:06 a.m. his time Smith picked up.

"We have nine minutes before this line disconnects," Smith said. "Remo, where are you? I called your home phone and there was no answer. You shouldn't be out on a mission. What's going on?"

"Good morning to you too, Smitty," Remo said with fake cheerfulness. "How's your day going so far?"

"Not well," Smith said, his lemony voice practically making the earpiece pucker in Remo's ear. "The computer just told me you're calling from London. What are you doing there?"

"That's what I'm calling about," Remo said. "The kid is going back to school here starting today. Chiun and I are going to be working out of England for a while."

"A while? How long is a while?"

"Until next June," Remo said.

Silence for some time.

"Perhaps I didn't hear that correctly," Smith finally said, and Remo heard great restraint in his tone. "Did you say, 'next June'?"

"Nothing gets by you, Smitty," Remo quipped.

There was a sigh from the other end of the line. "Remo," Smith said, "I don't know what you were thinking, but —"

"But nothing. Harry wanted to go back to school, and Chiun decided he wanted to go there to be with him," Remo cut in. "It's as simple as that."

"You could have said no."

"To who, Harry or Chiun?"

"To both of them."

"No, I couldn't," Remo retorted. "You don't tell the Master of Sinanju what he can or cannot do."

"You're a Master of Sinanju, too," Smith pointed out. "Aren't you the Reigning Master now? Doesn't that mean that Chiun has to listen to you?"

"I don't know where you got _that_ lame idea from," Remo said, flatly. "Look, Smitty, what's the big deal? What difference does it make whether I'm in New York, or New Delhi for that matter? You give me the assignments, I go carry them out. That's the biz, you know?"

"Fine," Smith said in a clipped voice. He was annoyed, Remo could tell. A point to Remo for getting Smitty's goat. "I have an assignment for you. It's in Canada. If you were _here_, you could have driven up there to check the situation out. As it is now, I'll have the details waiting for you at the front desk of the Savoy by tomorrow morning. It will be under the name Remo Burton. You can leave for Canada from there."

"I've got to get Chiun settled in where he'll be staying in Scotland," Remo said, but the phone had already gone dead. It was 3:15. _Right on schedule, Smitty_, Remo thought sourly, and hung up.

It was just like Smitty to get a burr up his ass about something that didn't matter, Remo groused to himself. Who gave a flying freak where he was? The answer: Smitty, apparently, the only guy in the world (other than the kid) that knew who he really was.

At least that simplified one thing for Remo: he wasn't going to have check out of the Savoy until tomorrow, and he, Chiun, Harry and Lupin would be leaving in just a little while for Hogsburg or whatever that town up in Scotland was called.

The downside was that they would be traveling using that magical doohickey Harry called a "Portkey," which Little Father did not care for at all, claiming that it jostled his trunks too much when they traveled like that. It was also a very strange, uncomfortable way to travel; Remo suspected Chiun found it quite disturbing to his body rhythms. It had bothered Remo the few times he had done it — it was an hour or so before he felt like his patterns were fully reestablished. It didn't seem to affect Harry at all, though. Perhaps, being a wizard, the kid was more used to that way of traveling.

Remo went back up to his and Chiun's room. Harry and Lupin were busy floating Chiun's trunks into a carefully stacked arrangement and doing some magicky stuff to keep them together. Chiun was sitting on the floor in lotus position, in front of the divan, ignoring them and sulking at having to travel by magic again. "Almost ready?" Remo asked, ignoring Chiun's snort of displeasure at his question.

"Almost," Lupin said cheerfully, and Harry came over to him.

"Remus and I have been talking about how to protect Chiun's trunks when we travel," Harry said to Remo, but speaking so Chiun would hear as well. "We're casting Cushioning Charms into each of the trunks, to keep the contents from jostling when we Portkey, plus we're sticking all of the trunks together with Sticking Charms and putting an Imperturbable Charm on the whole lot."

"Okay," Remo agreed, though he had no idea what Harry had just said.

"It will be inadequate," Chiun muttered from the floor.

"How do you know that, Little Father?" Harry asked mildly, hiding his irritation at Chiun's carping. "We've never put this many spells on your trunks before."

"You will see when we get there," Chiun kvetched. "I will show you how my delicate scrolls are out of place, how my kimonos have been wrinkled or torn. It is never a pretty sight."

"We can repair any damage, Master Chiun," Remus said, joining Harry and Remo.

"Can you repair an old man's dreams?" Chiun asked, shaking his head sorrowfully. Remo rolled his eyes at the drama.

"We know you hate using magic to travel, Chiun," Remo snapped. "But it only lasts a few seconds, not hours like a flight does."

"And what is wrong with flying?" Chiun said, looking up at Remo. "Airplanes are one of the few successes of the Western world, and yet you disdain them for this whirling about like demented dervishes."

Remo folded his arms stubbornly. "We're not flying with all of these trunks again, and going by car would take too long."

Remus and Harry looked at one another. "Well, we do have another solution to this problem," Remus said.

"What's that?" Remo muttered, wondering what Lupin and the kid had gotten up to.

"By the way," Harry said, "thanks for getting me the Mustang again, Remo."

"Sure," Remo said. He was starting to see where this was going.

"I was thinking it was a shame I had to leave it back in New York for nearly a year before I could drive it," Harry went on, smiling at Remus who was grinning back at him. "I asked Remus if there was a way we could bring it along, so I could drive it on weekends."

"That is not a good idea," Chiun interjected. "You should be training, not driving around Scotland like some teenage hooligan."

"Perhaps, Little Father," Harry admitted begrudgingly. "But I'll have time to do both. Anyway, Remus said there were a few things we could do to make the car more…_interesting_ to drive."

Remo definitely knew where this was going. "What did you do?"

Harry grinned enthusiastically. "I'll show you!" he said, taking a matchbox out of his pocket. Opening it, he took out a tiny model of a Mustang and put it on the floor. He pointed his wand at it and the model began to grow. And grow. Within seconds it had returned to full size. It was Harry's new 1997 Mustang.

When Remo had bought the car it was black, but it was now Gryffindor red with gold wheels. "An interesting fact about America and magic," Remus informed them. "It is legal to enchant a car to fly in America, as long as there are safeguards to prevent Muggles from seeing it while flying.

"Harry and I have added several enchantments to this vehicle in order to allow us to fly it in comfort," Remus went on. We've expanded the interior to allow up to six people to sit comfortably in the back seat, though from the outside it will appear as if only two people are in the back, the ones at either end of the back seat.

"The car is enchanted to fly at up to 300 kilometers per hour," Remus continued. "That's a little over 185 miles per hour in American terms. It can cruise as high as 10,000 feet; there are Air-Freshening Charms on the interior to prevent the air getting thin or stale. There are wind- and noise-reducing spells on the interior so we won't have to shout to be heard. To make the car Muggle-proof we installed an Invisibility Booster; it will activate automatically when the car is in the air. It can also be controlled manually by a button on the center console. I also added Muggle-Repelling Charms to the entire vehicle, to keep curious eyes away." He looked at Remo and Chiun. "I've keyed you into the charms so you won't notice the repelling effect."

Remus walked back to the trunk. "The boot has been expanded with an Undetectable Extension Charm." He opened the trunk, showing a cavernous compartment lighted by several small _Lumos_ bulbs. "We made sure it would hold up to 25 full-size steamer trunks in there, all fully protected by Cushioning Charms. The lights go out automatically when the lid is closed, and you can turn the lights on and off with this switch." He pointed to a small pull-string on the boot lid. "What do you think?" he asked.

Chiun had stood and was looking at the interior. "This vehicle can fly now, you say?" he asked. "Like an airplane?"

"Not _like_ an airplane," Harry said. "It flies by magic, like my broom."

"And what if this magic fails?" Chiun asked, still staring into the interior. "Will we not fall from the sky?"

"The magic won't fail, Master Chiun," Remus said confidently. "Harry and I added Permanent Enchantments to each of the spells we cast on the car. The Invisibility Booster has redundant charms so that even if one fails the other will remain in effect."

Chiun reached in, poking the front passenger seat with a long-nailed finger. "How comfortable are these?"

"I've added Cushioning Charms to all the seats," Remus said. "And Cooling and Warming Charms as well. When you're in the seat saying 'warmer' or 'cooler' will change the temperature by one degree, so you can make it whatever temperature you desire. You can also say 'softer' or 'harder' to adjust the feel of the Cushioning Charm."

"Pretty neat," Remo commented. "Too bad we can't get that kind of comfort on regular cars." Not that it mattered to a Master of Sinanju, who could make their bodies as warm or cool as they needed to.

Chiun looked at Remus. "How much time will this flying deathtrap require to travel to our destination?"

"At speed," Remus answered, after a moment's thought. "A little over two hours." He, Remo and Harry all looked at Chiun expectantly.

"Very well, then," Chiun said at last. "We will take the deathtrap. I call shotgun!"

"I'm driving!" Harry said immediately.

"Remo is driving," Chiun said as he opened the passenger door and got inside. You are loading my trunks into the back."

"Bollocks," Harry muttered, but went back to load the trunks. Remus followed him to help.

Within a few minutes the trunks were secured in the Mustang's trunk, Remus and Harry had climbed into the back seat, and Remo was sitting at the wheel. Remo could see only one small flaw in this plan.

"How do we get out of this room?" he wanted to know.

In the back seat, both Harry and Remus chuckled. "We thought situations like this would come up from time to time," Remus said. "So Harry and I installed a Portkey Booster as well. It's that red button on the console." Remus leaned forward, pointing to the button in front of the shifter, next to the Invisibility Booster. That will take us straight up to 10,000 feet and activate the flying spell. Be sure and hit the Invisibility Button first, in case there are any planes flying by when we arrive."

"Wait," Chiun said suddenly. "So we are still using magic to travel? Why did you not say that before —" Remo reached over and pushed the button before Chiun could get out of the car. The Mustang vanished in a whirl of color and sound.

They appeared moments later at 10,000 feet, rocking sideways a bit as winds suddenly buffeted the car. "That was unpleasant," Chiun said, as Remo shook his head with sudden disorientation. Just like before, his pattern was completely disrupted. He looked around.

Miles and miles of London cityscape stretched below them, along with the surrounding countryside. They could see the Thames meandering from east to west below them. To the north, the horizon stretched in front of them; Remo could almost make out the curvature of the earth from this height.

"Now what?" he asked, looking at the dash.

"There's a compass below the rear-view mirror," Harry said. "Put it on 340 degrees and hit the gas."

Remo turned the steering wheel, watching the compass spin from 270 up to 340. He pushed down on the gas pedal and the car surged forward, though the feel of acceleration was minimal. The needle on the speedometer spun steadily toward 150, the maximum number on the dial, then pegged as the car continued to accelerate.

"That's it," Harry said, when the car stopped accelerating. "Oh, and you'd better hit the Invisibility Booster, too, Remo." He pushed the button and a strange sensation shimmered across his skin.

"We're now invisible to all outside observers," Remus said. "The original Invisibility Booster design made _everything_ invisible, inside and out, but many wizards found that a bit unnerving. Harry and I modified it to work more like Harry's Invisibility Cloak — you can still see everyone inside the car with you, as well as the magnificent view from the windscreen and side windows."

"Silence," Chiun ordered. He was looking raptly as the countryside sped by below him. "I will compose an Ung poem during the journey to celebrate this exquisite view."

There was a small but collective groan from the other three passengers.

**=ooo=**

It was around 5:15 p.m. by Remo's internal clock when Lupin suggested they could start descending. The town, or castle, or whatever they were looking for still wasn't visible to him, but Remo pushed forward on the steering wheel, sending the front of the Mustang toward the earth below them.

"By the way," Remo pointed out, now that they were plunging toward the ground. "I have no idea how to land this thing."

"Not to worry," Remus said cheerfully. "We installed an auto-landing circuit in case someone other than Harry was driving." He pointed to the shifter. "Just go to the A on the shifter and let go of the wheel." Remo reached over and moved the shifter to the setting Lupin had pointed out.

The Mustang leveled out, slowing down considerably in mid-air. In moments they were down to about 60 mph, then 50, 40, 30… The ground was moving closer and closer; Remo could see a dirt road coming up to meet them. The wheels touched down, and the Mustang's engine came to life, rumbling throatily as the engine revved down until the car was traveling around 20 miles per hour. Instinctively Remo took the wheel again, driving normally as they passed an old, faded sign that said "Hogsmeade – 3 miles" in old-fashioned script.

They drove into the East end of Hogsmeade, slowing down to look at the buildings as they passed. "Three Broomsticks is at the other end of town," Lupin said, pointing ahead of them. Remo noticed they were being watched, too. Several inhabitants had come out of buildings upon hearing an unfamiliar noise. They stared as the Mustang cruised past.

"You'd think they never saw a car before," Remo muttered as he watched the oddly-dressed (but oddly familiar, as most wizard robes resembled a kimono such as Chiun normally wore) men and women looking and pointing at them.

"Many of them never have," Remus pointed out. "We look almost as odd to them as someone flying a broom in downtown Rye, New York would look to you. Three Broomsticks coming up on your left," he added, and Remo slowed down and stopped in front of the building, taller than any of the surrounding structures.

Chiun slipped out of the passenger door and stood looking about slowly. "I sense the presence of magic attempting to impel me to depart this place," he murmured.

"Me, too," Remo agreed. "It's a little distracting."

"I can fix that," Harry said. "We've got immunizing spells — they're for normal Muggles so they should make those feelings go right away." He and Remus pointed their wands at Remo and Chiun. A moment later Remo was nodding.

"It's gone," Remo said. "Much better."

"Hardly," Chiun complained. "Now I can sense _both_ magics — one telling me to leave, the other saying 'don't worry, everything is _fine_.' It is maddening."

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Little Father, I don't know what else we can do —"

"We can leave here and return to America," Chiun immediately snapped. "You have your certifications from the American school, you do not need to do this."

Harry folded his arms stubbornly. Remo thought to himself that the kid looked a lot like he did when he tried to stand up to Chiun. "I think I do," Harry said firmly. "Besides, these people are being persecuted by Voldemort. I have to do something about that."

"For whom?" Chiun shot back. "Who has hired you to do this? Have you forgotten you are of Sinanju? We do not simply running around assassinating everyone who is 'persecuting' someone else, Harry!"

"Right," Harry shook his head in disgust. "We're back to money again, aren't we? It's not just about money, Little Father, it's about right and wrong!"

"Ah, for the days of my youth," Remo muttered, looking into the sky.

Harry spun on him. "So why are you still working for CURE, huh, Remo? Is it just about the money for you too, now? Holy crap, for all these years Chiun's been telling me it's about me being the only one who could kill this Tarakasur death-demon! Now all of sudden, when I come here to do that, it's all about the gold he can make out of it!" Harry reached in his pocket and took out two old-fashioned keys, throwing them to the ground at Chiun's feet.

"Here's the keys to your rooms!" he said loudly, then turned around and walked away.

"Harry, where are you going?" Remus called after him.

"Up to Hogwarts!" Harry said over his shoulder, still walking away.

Remo walked over and picked up the keys. The tags on the keys read "110" and "112." He watched as Chiun stared at Harry's back as he walked angrily away. "I'll talk to him," he said softly. "He's doing this for a good cause. He thinks everyone ought to realize that."

"I do realize that, Remo," Chiun answered, just as softly. "I am the one who told him he must be the one to defeat Tarakasur. But the avatar of Murugan must wait for the proper time, and I fear Harry is being rash in hurrying this confrontation to suit his own desires, not the son of Shiva's. I would fear this is his Night of the Salt if he had not already undergone that a year ago."

The Night of the Salt was a time during a Master's training when he would doubt himself and his abilities, and would do something foolish to prove that his skills and training were valid. It had happened for Chiun when he was 12, after a decade of training. For Remo, it had come roughly ten years into his training, about the same amount of time as Chiun. But for Harry it had happened after only four years of his Sinanju training.

A year ago during an investigation into a number of train wrecks occurring around the country, Harry had taken it upon himself to chase down a runaway train and get the crew safely off before the train ran off a destroyed bridge. He had been on the train when it went off the bridge but had executed a perfect Flying Wall, having only seen Remo perform it once before, a month earlier. In the Flying Wall you shifted your weight as you fell, altering your momentum so that you skimmed the surface of the water as you reached it, barely touching it. The water in the river had been low at that time, with less than a foot of depth at its deepest. A normal diver would have been killed, driven into the bed of the river. But Harry had survived unharmed. Chiun had been proud of his second son for that accomplishment, but instead of telling him he complained that had performed it with his spine bent incorrectly and that his clothes had been soaking wet afterwards, though there was barely any water on them at all. The Master of Sinanju Emeritus stared after his younger apprentice, wishing he could accept that Chiun was worried for him.

Harry walked up the road leading out of Hogsmeade, not caring whether he made any sound as he walked or not. Let Chiun bitch about _that_ if he wanted to! He gave barely a glance toward Hogsmeade Station as he passed. The train would be here just before sundown, if it was on time, as of course it always was. The carriages to bring the students up from the station weren't there yet; Harry suspected Hagrid brought them down from wherever they were kept just before train arrived. First-years rode boats across the lake to Hogwarts, so that the other years had a chance to get there first.

Harry looked up at the wall that ran along the west side of the Hogwarts grounds, getting an idea. He might as well work off some of his frustrations by running the wall instead of taking the road leading up to the gates. Harry went over to the wall and put his hands on it, preparing to climb it. But his fingers couldn't get any traction; it was like the wall was charmed to prevent anyone from climbing it. Even the small ridges between the stone blocks the wall was constructed from would not allow him to hold onto them..

Harry smiled. Well, there was more than one way to skin a cat, as Remo would say, though why anyone would do that to a cat was a mystery to Harry. He could probably use a Sticking Charm to overcome the No-Sticking Charm that was protecting the wall, but he didn't need to waste magical energy when he could use his Sinanju abilities to accomplish the same thing. Harry took a few steps back, then moved forward, altering his momentum upward as he reached the wall. He took one, two, three steps up the wall, reaching the top edge and moving soundlessly onto the top. His feet immediately slid off, however, propelling him back over the outside edge of the wall.

Harry landed silently in the lane. Anti-intrusion charms were blocking the top of the wall, to keep anyone from passing over it. _We'll see about that_, he thought to himself. He ran up the wall again, this time stepping only on its outside edge with the tips of his loafers. The wards didn't try to push him off this time. Well, this was going to make for an interesting exercise session! He was about a quarter of a mile south of the gates to the school, and he couldn't put more than a toe on the wall without being pushed off.

Harry began stepping sideways, crossing his right foot over his left while keeping it as straight as possible so he wouldn't activate the ward. Faster and faster his feet moved until he was moving at about 30 feet per second, a pretty good speed for such an unusual running form.

In short order he came to the gates: two large pillars topped with marble statues of winged pigs and two heavy wrought-iron gates secured with a large iron chain and padlock. The road leading up to Hogwarts ran through the gate.

How high did the security ward extend? Harry guessed there was other magic to prevent flying objects such as brooms from crossing over, so the largest creatures the wall would have to deal with would be giants. Since giants, as strong as they were, still couldn't jump very high, the wards only had to extend about 30 or 40 feet up from the top of the wall. Since the wall was about 20 feet tall, a 60-foot leap was in order. Harry smiled. He wondered if Remo or Chiun had managed a leap that high. Chiun, probably; if anyone could do it, it would be him.

Harry, however would need some help to accomplish that. Magic, of course, would do the trick, but he usually liked to pit his Sinanju skills against magical barriers and vice-versa. He could use the wall itself to get a running start.

Harry let himself slip off the top edge, landing next to the wall. He walked back across the road, giving himself room to gain momentum, then sprinted toward the wall. As he reached it he redirected his momentum upward, increasing it instead of letting himself slow as he reached the top. His toes touched the top edge, pushing even harder, and Harry moved straight up in a graceful reverse dive. 30, 40, 50, 60 feet he rose into the air, his momentum nearly spent as gravity slowed him to a stop 65 feet in the air. He spun forward, feeling the wards crackle beneath him as he rolled over them, and he leaned forward into a dive toward the ground, letting his feet move into the ward.

The magic pushed him forward, away from the wall. Good, he had guessed correctly. As he neared the grass below he directed his momentum again into a horizontal direction, using his motion and air resistance to skim the top of the grass in the Flying Wall move. He pulled his legs underneath him as he straightened up, landing a dozen yards beyond the wall, and looked around. He was still a little annoyed with Chiun's attitude, but the short run and the exhilaration of his last move had evaporated most of his anger.

Well, the place hadn't changed much, he thought. The Quidditch pitch was on his right, between the school and the west wall. The path ran past it, curving around slightly toward the castle's front doors. Harry wouldn't be playing any Quidditch this year — he still flew every so often for the enjoyment, but there was no point in engaging in games like Quidditch now. The game would be over as soon as it started if Harry used his Sinanju skills to catch the Snitch. He started down the path leading to the school.

Further to the right, the grounds sloped down toward the lake, where Harry could make out two tombs, a large white one and a smaller one some yards away. The larger one would be Dumbledore's, Harry knew; he considered walking down to look at it more closely but he would have plenty of time for that during the year. And after all, it was just a dead man's final resting place, a man who had used Harry for his own purposes until he'd finally had enough and broke free. When he thought about it that way, Harry actually didn't care to visit the tomb at all.

According to Remus the other, smaller tomb was the person who had been impersonating him during the previous school year. Harry was even less interested in visiting that tomb, except perhaps to discover who that person was. McGonagall hadn't known; probably the only person who did was in the larger tomb next to him. Or her, since Polyjuice would allow the impersonator to change their sex as well as their image. It would be strange having sex with someone who was really male, Harry considered. If he did have sex with anyone here this year (which was likely since women were beginning to throw themselves as him, as Remo had warned him) he would have to make sure that none of them were Polyjuiced.

Harry walked up the marble steps leading up to the front doors and pulled on the huge door handle to gain entrance. The doors were locked. Not really a problem for him, though these doors were awfully large to slip the bolts. Well, he wasn't going to wait outside while someone took their time coming to let him in. He could climb up to a window but that could be a fallback method if he failed with the doors. Which he wouldn't.

Harry put both hands on one of the doors, noting that there was no No-Stick charms here. Just as Remo had done when they first met, he pushed on the door, bending it enough to slip the locking bolt free of the slot. The door bent alarmingly but didn't break, then snapped back into shape with the locking bolt clear. Harry pushed the door out of the way and stepped inside,

The entrance hall was pretty much as he remembered it, though he reminded himself that he didn't remember all that much about it; it was just a way to get from the Great Hall nearby to the staircase leading up to the first floor. Harry walked over to the doors leading the Great Hall. They were open, and he went inside.

The four tables were there as he expected. The Gryffindor table was furthest from the door. Harry went over and sat down about halfway along the table, facing the other three. The tables were all bare except for empty golden plates scattered along their length, and sashes at their ends identifying them as Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. At the front of the Hall was the High Table, where the Hogwarts staff ate. Nothing much going on there either, Harry saw. He looked around at the rest of the Hall. There were pennants and shields hanging on the wall, halberds and spears crossed behind them, and the ceiling was devoid of anything interesting, though there were spells to obscure the rafters and crossbeams above everyone.

Harry sighed. This was boring. Was he really going to sit here for over four hours waiting for the rest of the school to show up? _No, I'm not_, Harry shook his head. He had plenty of time to kill, he might as well walk through the rest of the castle, see what was happening. Perhaps he could visit the Gryffindor common room, the place he had spent most of his time in outside of classes.

He could sense movement in another part of the castle, as well as some very near. Someone was walking slowly toward the Great Hall, they would be here in less than a minute. At that moment a thin, dust-colored cat leapt up on the Gryffindor table in front of Harry, staring at him with yellow eyes as she walked slowly across the table toward him.

"Hello, Mrs. Norris," Harry said, remembering the cat that belonged to Argus Filch, the castle's caretaker. He reached out to stroke the cat's head, and Mrs. Norris began purring. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

The cat nuzzled his hand. Harry smiled. Strange to think he was ever afraid of this cat, or her owner. As he continued to pet Mrs. Norris the shuffling gait Harry heard moving through the hallways was getting closer.

"Is your daddy coming, Mrs. Norris?" Harry said softly to the cat. It meowed at him, rubbing its head against his hand, then rolling onto its side. The doors to the Great Hall flew open.

"Here, now! What're you doin' there with my cat?!"

Filch shuffled across the Great Hall toward where Harry sat. Even across the Hall the old man's lungs wheezed like bellows, and his breath was rank with meats and grains. "I _said_," the old man repeated, "what're you doing with my cat?"

"Petting her," Harry smiled, giving Mrs. Norris a final rub across her belly. The cat purred contentedly for a few moments, then seemed to realize Filch was there. It sprang to its feet and scampered off the table.

Filch scowled and looked around the empty Great Hall with his rheumy yellow eyes. "What're you doin' in here, anyway? Students aren't supposed to be here yet, an' I don't recognize you anyway. Who are you, then?"

"You don't recognize me, Mr. Filch?" Harry asked. "I'm Harry Potter."

Filch took a step back, shook his head, then leaned forward again, studying Harry. "You ain't Harry Potter, boy. That little bugger's deader'n a mackerel." His face contorted into something that was supposed to be a laugh.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry said, "but I'm him."

Filch stopped laughing. "How can that be? You were dead! You're supposed to be buried out there next to Albus Dumbledore! A waste of a good tomb, if you ask me!"

Harry almost laughed at that. "Mine, or Dumbledore's?" he asked.

"Well, yours, of course!" Filch growled, then — "Well, I mean, you should'a been buried somewhere — I mean _whoever's_ buried out there should'a been buried som'ere else!"

"Well," Harry put on a thoughtful face. "I suppose I _could_ be a ghost, and just haven't figured that out yet."

Filch looked anxious for a second, as if seriously considering Harry's words, but then realized Harry was kidding him. "Don't be a clever Dick, boy. Whoever you are, Harry Potter or no, you put a toe out of line and you'll be sorry. We're going to see some order in this school this year, mark my words! Come, my sweet." Filch turned and stalked away. Mrs. Norris started to follow him, but turned and looked back at Harry, giving a plaintive meow.

"I'll see you later," Harry said, and the cat meowed again then trotted after Filch, who stopped at the doorway to pick her up, glare at Harry, and slam the door closed as he left.

"That was fun," Harry said to himself. "I wonder if Sirius is here yet?" He sat still a moment, letting his body feel the vibrations of the castle. He could easily sense Filch stomping away toward his office, but there were more subtle vibrations as the staff members moved around their quarters, unpacking, or sat at their desks working before the start-of-term feast.

It was nearing four p.m. What he _should_ do, Harry knew, was to go back to Hogsmeade and tell Chiun and Remo he was sorry for running off and leaving them alone in a wizarding-only city. That might not have been a good idea — for Hogsmeade's sake, that is. Well, Remus was with them, Harry rationalized; he would get them settled in Three Broomsticks before he came up to the school to unpack. Harry could go back tonight, after the feast, and make up with them.

Also, he realized, he had to figure out someplace to park his new car! Harry certainly wasn't going to leave his new baby just sitting out on the street!

**=ooo=**

Remus started to go after Harry as well, but — "Leave him be for now," Chiun said to the wizard. "He will not listen to you until he has re-centered himself."

Remus stopped, watching Harry leave, then turned back to the two Masters of Sinanju. "He can be stubborn," he agreed, with a look at Remo.

"What was that look for?" Remo asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Remus shrugged, pretending innocence. Remo could be every bit as stubborn as Harry was at the moment. He pointed to the keys in Remo's hand. "We should go find your rooms, get you and Master Chiun settled in."

"Oh, yeah," Remo said, remembering. "That reminds me. I have to go back to London," he told Chiun. "Smitty's got an assignment for me, I've got to pick up my papers to leave for Canada tomorrow morning."

"Typical," Chiun muttered. "Once again you abandon your apprentice to go gallivanting off on another mission for the mad Emperor."

"Jesus Christ, not _this_ again," Remo moaned. "Chiun, you _know_ what I'm doing for America is important."

"I know you _think_ it's important," Chiun kvetched. "The small mind always believes itself to be occupied with affairs of great import. Yet in 100 years who will know of the things you have done for your fledgling country?"

"Nobody will," Remo snapped, "because they're _supposed_ to be secret! Just like half the assassinations Sinanju's done in the past thousand years have been attributed to other reasons!" Which was true — the Masters of Sinanju operated mostly shrouded in secrecy, making their assassinations seem like accidents or the responsibility of others such as killers, robbers or mercenaries.

And because he did not want to admit Remo was correct, Chiun merely said, "Bring my trunks up to my room, Remo. I will examine this 'inn' Harry has found for us, though it seems little more than a barn that serves alcohol." Chiun went into Three Broomsticks, seeming to glide more than walk in his red kimono.

The public area was not very busy, probably because many inhabitants of the magical town were preparing for the influx of students and staff for the school. Even though only third-years and above were allowed occasional trips to Hogsmeade, with parent or guardian approval, seventh-years were all of age and were allowed out on weekends. Still, as Chiun entered the inn and stopped, looking around at the imbibers of alcohol and fermented grains, the inn went silent as the witches and wizards there drinking realized —

There was a Muggle in their midst.

Chiun ignored the looks as he moved silently through the pub, seating himself at a table not far from the staircase leading to the inn's rooms. The barroom was still silent when Remus entered a few moments later, the first of Chiun's 14 trunks floating behind him. He stopped, noting the silence in the pub and Madam Rosemerta's eyes on him. He walked over to the bar where she stood. "Didn't Harry tell you about his father and brother?" Remus asked, softly.

"Harry who?" Rosemerta said, confused. "That young man who said he needed a couple of rooms told me his name was Remo Williams and that he and his father would be staying here for a while. He paid in advance, but I didn't realize his father was a Muggle…" she trailed off, looking uneasy. "I mean, I don't mind, but we're not used to having Muggles around here."

Remus was shaking his head in amused silence. He'd expected his student to be a bit more straightforward with Rosemerta, but that evidently hadn't happened. "I see your point, but I don't think they'll be any trouble, Rosemerta. Master Chiun's son is attending Hogwarts for his seventh year, and Chiun wanted to be close by."

"The son is Muggleborn, then?" Rosemerta asked.

"Well, it's — complicated," Remus said, hesitating to explain further. Conversation was beginning to pick up among the patrons as the old Oriental sat quietly at the table. "Like I said, he shouldn't be any bother —"

At that moment Remo entered the inn carrying a second trunk, and conversation died again. Remo saw Remus and the barmaid standing together, and walked over to them. "Are the rooms up the stairs?" he asked Rosemerta, holding up the keys.

"Who are you?" Rosemerta blurted out. If the kid had been a strapping young man, _this_ one was ever-so-much-more-so.

"Remo," the man said, and Rosemerta smiled sultrily.

"Remo Williams?" she asked. "You're not quite what I expected, but you'll do."

Remo was staring at her. "How do you know my name?" Remo Williams was his _real_ name, the one he'd had when they sent him to the electric chair. What had that damned kid done _now_?

"The young man who rented those rooms from me said his name was Remo Williams," the barmaid explained, pointing to the keys in Remo's hand. "They're up the stairs and to the left, facing the main road. So…" she was giving him an appraising look. "You and the old man are really going to stay here for the entire school year?"

"What old man?" Remo asked, then realized who she meant. "Oh — Chiun. Yeah, but don't let him hear you call him that."

"Sensitive about his age?" Rosemerta asked, knowingly. She lowered her voice to a near whisper. Chiun would still hear her, Remo knew, if he was paying any attention, which he always was, so Remo would have to listen to him bitch about that later. "He looks pretty old for a Muggle," Rosemerta said softly. "What is he, about 80 or so?"

"Somewhere around there," Remo said. Chiun was well over 100, but he didn't like strangers knowing how old he was.

"So how old are you, handsome?" Rosemerta asked, leaning forward a bit to let Remo have a look at her bosom. Remo smiled in apparent appreciation, hiding his sigh of resignation. He didn't think witches would go for him that much — apparently he was wrong.

"Guess," Remo said, not wanting to give his age away, either. Born in 1939, as near as he knew, he was in his fifth decade, though most people guessed his age anywhere from early 30's to late 40's.

The barmaid studied his face a few moments. "About 40," she finally said.

Remo nodded. "Pretty good guess," he said, smiling.

Remus had been watching this with a clinical, detached horror. Rosemerta had been a barmaid at Three Broomsticks when _he_ was a student! She was hiding her age well, but she was still at least a decade younger than Remo!

"Maybe we should get these trunks up to the rooms," Remus suggested, hoping Remo would take the hint.

"Sure," Remo said, still smiling at Rosemerta. He winked at her, then hefted the trunk onto his shoulder and followed Remus up the stairs, tossing him the keys as Remus stopped in front of the last room in the hallway, room 112. Remus unlocked the door and stepped inside, the trunk following him with Remo right behind it, then spun toward the Master.

"What was all that about with Rosemerta?" he demanded. "I thought you didn't like women throwing themselves at you."

"I don't, mostly," Remo said, putting his trunk down silently next to the first one. "But if it gets around that there's something going on with me and that Rosemerta chick, maybe the others will leave me alone."

"Oh," Remus said. He never would have thought of that. He walked over to the window, where he could see a few inhabitants of Hogsmeade staring at the Mustang in apparent confusion. "We're beginning to attract a crowd out front," he commented.

"We'd better get back down there and get the rest of Chiun's trunks up here," Remo said. "If somebody scratches one of them I don't know how I'll get rid of the bodies."

"He wouldn't really kill someone for scratching one of his trunks, would he?" Remus asked disbelievingly.

"He once killed a skycap who scratched one of his trunks," Remo said absently, joining Remus at the window to watch a witch and wizard who were staring and pointing at the Mustang. "Drowned him in a toilet."

"Eurgh," Remus grimaced.

"We better go get the rest of the trunks," Remo said, turning toward the door.

"Wait," Remus said. "I have a quicker way." He took out his wand and motioned toward the window, which flew open. Remus leaned out of the window and flicked his wand several times. The trunk of the Mustang flew open and the remaining 12 trunks floated out, one by one, up into the air and toward the open window. As an afterthought Remus's briefcase with his school supplies floated up after them. Remus stepped back inside to allow the trunks to come through the window, which widened to let each of them pass through. The trunks stacked themselves neatly along one wall of the room, reaching almost to the ceiling. Remus flicked his wand toward the window a final time and the trunk and window slammed shut together.

"Nice," Remo said, appreciatively. "When are you supposed to go up to the school?" he asked Lupin.

"The train normally arrives around 7:30," Remus replied, taking hold of his briefcase as it floated over to him. "The Headmistress told me the feast will start at eight. I'll try to get up there around seven."

"When you see Harry, tell him I had to go back to America on an assignment," Remo said. "I need to get back to the Savoy by morning. Do you think Harry will mind if I take the car?" He grinned as he said this.

Remus chuckled. "I think you do that at your own risk! Harry would probably fight you for that car."

"Wouldn't be much of a fight," Remo said dismissively. "I taught him everything he knows."

"So did I," Remus quipped, waving his wand. The wand was suddenly gone from his hand. There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to find Remo behind him, Remus's wand in his hand. He held it out to the wizard.

Remus took it back with a rueful smile. "Your point is taken," he said. "But Harry has both magic and Sinanju. Have you ever thought about what he could do with a combination of those abilities?"

"I've wondered about it," Remo nodded. "I'll bet Chiun has, too. Now that he's an adult Chiun is going to want him to train using both his magic and Sinanju together."

"He could become pretty powerful," Remus said, thoughtfully. "Perhaps too powerful for his own good."

"I don't know about that," Remo disagreed. "He's a pretty level-headed kid — I don't think he'd go rogue or anything like that."

"I hope not," Remus murmured. Power had gone to the heads of men like Grindelwald and Voldemort. Who was to say Harry was immune to such temptation?

"Come on, let's go back downstairs," Remo suggested. "I can use a drink."

Remus stopped short, giving Remo a puzzled look. He knew Remo drank in the past, but hadn't taken a drink in many years. "Do you really think that's a good —"

"Gotcha," Remo laughed. "I mean a drink of water."

Chuckling, the two men went down to join Chiun.

**=ooo=**

Chiun wasn't sitting at the table when Remo and Remus returned to the ground floor of the pub. But he was nearby, Remo knew, because he could still sense the elder Master in his pattern. Following his senses, Remo walked into another section of the pub where he found Chiun watching two wizards playing darts.

Normally Chiun cared nothing for such games. Most games of skill were no challenge to a Master of Sinanju, whose senses and reflexes were on a level most athletes could barely imagine. Yet he stood quietly watching the two men throw their sets of darts at the dartboard with seeming interest.

"I'll get us something to drink," Remus said quietly. "The usual for you and Master Chiun?" Remo nodded and Remus headed to the bar.

Remo moved silently next to the Korean. "What's up?" he asked softly.

"Shhh," Chiun warned him. "They do not care for distractions while engaged in their game." The pub was filled with dozens of conversations, clinking glasses and bottles, as well as the shouts and exclamations of men and women playing other games, some of which Remo had seem Harry and Remus play, and some he had never heard of. Some were playing chess with moving pieces that sometimes argued with the players about where they were moved and how much danger they were in of being captured. There was the game Harry called Exploding Snap, a card game that had cards that would unexpectedly explode at times. A game at another table looked like dominoes, but the pieces were of odd shapes — pieces would suddenly merge together or split apart at random moments.

"Which is just as well," Chiun continued, "for as poorly as they doing."

One of the players, a tall, thin wizard, stopped and looked at Chiun, irritated. "Can you keep it down?" he complained. "No one can play correctly with some Muggle running his mouth all the time."

"It appears you cannot play correctly even when I am silent," Chiun replied. "Most of your shots have hit the target only by luck."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the wizard demanded. "I can put these darts anywhere I want!"

"You would score more if you closed your eyes for each throw," Chiun announced. "This is a game of skill, not blind, random chance."

The wizard strode over to where Chiun and Remo were standing. He was several inches taller than Remo, and towered over Chiun, who was barely five feet tall. "You think you could do better than me? That's a laugh!"

"That is a fact," Chiun corrected him. "You do not know to whom you speak, o wizard."

"_Don't kill him, Chiun_," Remo said, in Korean.

"_He is not worth bothering with_," Chiun retorted. "_I was merely watching these buffoons while waiting for you and Remus to prepare my room_."

"What's that you're jabbering?" the tall wizard demanded. "Sounds like Gobbledegook to me. You two goblin sympathizers or something?"

Chiun turned to the wizard looming over him. "I have not had dealing with these goblins you speak of, but I understand they are quite astute in matters of finance and valuable metals."

"They're greedy and rebellious," the wizard sneered. "Now are you going to put your money where your mouth is?" He held out a handful of darts. "Loser buys the house a round of drinks."

"My father's just tired," Remo said, trying to placate the tall wizard. "_Tell him you're tired_," he muttered to Chiun.

Chiun, however, reached out and took the darts. "I accept your wager," he said. The wizard smirked expectantly and walked back to the throw line a dozen feet away. The noise in the pub had intensified as other patrons began taking side bets on who would win, George Hoverton, considered the best dart player in magical Britain, or the ancient Oriental Muggle.

"Three darts apiece," Hoverton said, pointing to the dartboard. "Five points for hitting in the red, three for in the green, and one for inside the inner circle. You want to go first, old man, or shall I?"

"We have an old saying in my village," Chiun replied. "'Youth precedes wisdom.' Please go first, o wizard."

"What's Master Chiun doing?" Remus had returned with two glasses of water for Remo and Chiun, and a bottle of butterbeer for himself.

"Probably working off his frustration with Harry," Remo muttered.

The entire pub was watching now as Hoverton squared off with his darts. There were shouts of encouragement from the crowd. "Show him you're the best, George!" "Three in the red, George!" "You can do it!" Hoverton raised his hands, signaling for silence, and the pub immediately went silent. The tall wizard set himself, aiming carefully with the first dart, then threw it.

The dart flew the seven feet, 9¼ inches from the toe line to the face of the board, embedding itself in the red dot at the center of the board. The next two darts were thrown with equal precision, forming a tightly bunched group. The pub exploded with applause and shouts of congratulation. "Beat that, o Muggle!" Hoverton sneered at the old man, who had not moved from where he stood a dozen feet back from the toe line. "Come on up and take your turn."

"I will stand here," Chiun announced, and the pub quickly filled with whispers and debate about what the old Muggle was up to. No one could hit the bull's-eye three times from that distance, even without three darts already placed there!

_Thunk, thunk thunk_. The sounds came almost as one as Chiun's darts flew so fast they were hardly visible. "Merlin's pants!" Someone near the board said loudly. "Look!"

The three darts had each split one of Hoverton's darts, driving them into the board up to their barrels. Hoverton turned to the board, his jaw dropping in shock. How had the Muggle done that? He couldn't have! "You cheated!" he roared at Chiun, stomping over to where the Korean stood. "Someone enchanted those darts when I wasn't looking!"

"They were your darts," Chiun reminded him. "And I cannot perform magic. At least, not in the way you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hoverton demanded, still suspecting foul play. He reached out to grasp the front of the old man's robes, to shake him until he told them the truth.

The next moment his face slammed into the floor, and Hoverton's dart-throwing arm was twisted behind his back, in excruciating pain. "Get off!" he howled, then screamed as he felt bones breaking in his hand and arm. His arm was released and dropped uselessly to the floor. The pub had gone completely silent.

"I hope you're happy," Remo growled as Chiun turned and walked toward the stairs.

"I am not unhappy," Chiun said. "And neither should you be — I left that idiot alive so you would not have extra work to do."

"Gee, thanks a bunch." Remo watched as Chiun glided up the stairs, then turned back to the bar. "A round of drinks for everyone," he said with a shrug. "Georgie is buying." Hoverton was still on the floor, groaning. Remo turned and walked up the stairs after Chiun, leaving Remus alone.

"Good game," Remus said, smiling nervously. "Well, I ought to be popping off to work now." He walked out of Three Broomsticks and immediately Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, only to find Hagrid there unlocking them.

"Hullo," Hagrid said, offering a huge right hand for Remus to shake. "Lessee, yeh'd be Professor Lupin, wouldn't yeh? Perfesser McGonagall said yeh'd be the new Transfiguration teacher."

"Hello, Hagrid," Remus smiled as his hand disappeared in Hagrid's. "I remember you from my days here as a student."

"Yeh do, eh?" Hagrid smiled. "I'm a teacher too now, yeh know," he said proudly. "Teach Care O' Magical Creatures." He swung the gates wide open, then took a large pocket watch from one of his mokeskin coat's many pockets. "Jes' getting things ready for the students' arrival," he said, putting the watch away again. "They'll be here in less 'an two hours, you know. Gotta go get the carriages ready to take 'em from the station back up to the school. See you at the feast, Perfesser." Hagrid turned to leave.

"Have you seen Harry yet, by the way?" Remus asked.

Hagrid stopped and looked back at him. "Harry who?" he asked.

"Harry Potter — oh, McGonagall may not have told you," Remus realized as he spoke.

Hagrid's expression darkened. "Tha' not funny, Perfesser," he said., frowning in disapproval. "Poor Harry's dead, yeh ought to know that by now," he added with a sniffle.

"He's not, Hagrid," Remus said. "He's still alive." He looked toward the school. "It's a long story, Hagrid, and I know you're busy. I'll tell you at the feast." Hagrid just stared at him, so Remus nodded and began walking toward the school. Well, he'd put his foot in it just then! Remus wondered how many of the other staff members didn't know that Harry was still alive. He hadn't meant for McGonagall to keep it secret from everyone.

As he reached the steps to the front door Remus saw a line of carriages moving toward the gates, each being drawn by dark, skeletal winged horses — thestrals. Hagrid was calling gently to them, giving each of them cubes of meat as they passed by him and through the gates of Hogwarts.

Inside the entrance hall, Remus took out the slip of parchment he had written the location of his office and private quarters. It was adjacent to classroom 1B, where Transfiguration had been taught when he was a student. Remus took the hallway opposite the doors to the Great Hall; he would eventually come upon 1B and from there his rooms wouldn't be far.

The classroom was on the north side of the castle, and on the next door over Remus found a sign saying Transfiguration Professors Office. His wolf-sharp eyes also noticed a slight discoloration on the door itself, where a sign had evidently been removed. It was easy to imagine this was how Minerva had posted her name on the door. He took out the key she had given him and put it in the door, turning it.

"Reeeemus Luuupin," a sepulchral voice intoned. "Whyyy have you returned to Hogwartsss?"

Remus stopped, looking around. He couldn't see any ghosts present, though that didn't mean they weren't there, invisible. "Who is that?" he demanded.

"It'sss your worrrst nightmaaaare…" the voice moaned. "You mussst leeeave Hogwarts foreverrr… leave nowww…"

"Sorry," Remus frowned; the lock wasn't behaving. The key shouldn't be having any trouble. "A faceless voice and a sticky lock aren't nearly bad enough to make me leave —" He suddenly realized what was probably happening. "Very amusing, Sirius," he said, looking around again. "I just remembered you asking me for a prank like this in our fourth year."

"Hi Moony." Sirius was leaning against the wall next to the door. "Sorry, I couldn't resist welcoming you back to our old Marauding hangout." He tapped the door with his wand and the key suddenly unlocked it. The door swung open.

"Thanks. I think," Remus said dryly. He stepped into the office. Sirius followed him inside.

"Lights," Sirius said, and the room was bathed in soft, white light.

"Nice touch," Remus said, looking around at the nearly empty office. The desk and bookshelves were bare except for an old copy of the _Hogwarts Staff Handbook_, written in 1939, according to the date on the spine. "Well," he said, looking around, "it's not much, but it's a start."

"Let's see what your quarters look like," Sirius suggested, pointing to a door marked Private. Remus let them inside and the lights came on automatically, more subdued than in his office.

His quarters were much better furnished than the office had been. There were comfortable chairs for relaxing and having guests in, and the bedroom had a very nice-looking canopy bed, a wardrobe and two bedside tables, and bathroom adjacent to it with a combination tub and shower, a vanity and toilet facilities. There was even a well-stocked closet area for keeping bathroom and cosmetic supplies.

Remus said "Lights off," as he entered the living area again, to make sure the magic would answer to him. The lights went out and Remus turned them on by saying "Lights!" again.

"Flitwick?" Remus asked, looking at Sirius, who nodded as he dropped into a comfortable chair.

"He put this spell in his quarters a long time ago," Sirius explained. "One of the other teachers found out about it and wanted it added to hers as well. Flitwick being the old softie he is, soon all the staff rooms had the charm on it. You can adjust the level of brightness and how much of the room is lit. Lights brighter!" he called out, and the room brightened a fraction. "Just don't ask for full brightness," he warned. "It gets _really_ intense."

"Well, Flitwick could be a prankster in his own right." Remus sat down on the divan next to Sirius's chair. "He always smiled at some of the stuff you and James pulled."

"Didn't keep him from giving us detentions," Sirius grumbled. "Anyway, I'm glad I caught you before the feast. I want you to catch me up on this Sinanju business Harry's gotten into."

Remus scratched absently behind one ear. "Ah. Well, there's not a lot to tell you, really. Remo and Chiun, the two men who took him from the Dursleys, the Muggle family Dumbledore put him with after James and Lily were killed, are assassins who work for a secret American organization called CURE. CURE's job is to find problems the American justice system can't deal with, and deal with them. Master Chiun, who's from Sinanju, a remote village in North Korea, is the Master of Sinanju, a martial art he says is the 'sun source' of all other martial arts. Even though they're both Muggles, Remo and Chiun can do amazing things. They can run faster than some brooms can fly, climb sheer walls like walking up a staircase, and can kill you with a touch.

Sirius was giving him an odd look. "Not much to tell me, eh?" he said with a crooked grin. "But that doesn't really say anything about Harry," he went on. "Other than he's training to become an assassin." Sirius gave Remus a sly look. "You're not pranking me now, are you Moony? I mean, that story about teaching Harry to be an assassin sounds a bit thin, don't you think? Why would they even pick Harry in the first place?"

"Chiun says there's an ancient Sinanju prophecy that only someone named Murugan, who's the son of Shiva, can defeat Tarakasur —"

"Who the hell is _that_?"

"It's a demon Chiun says Voldemort is an avatar of." At Sirius's confused look he added, "I know, it doesn't make much sense to me, either, but Harry tells me Chiun really believes it. He even thinks Remo, the man he's been training in Sinanju for over 30 years now, is the avatar of Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction."

"That's pretty weird," Sirius said, not sure how to make of everything Remus had just told him. "But what about _Harry_, Moony! Why in the Merlin's name did he get hooked up with _these_ two guys? Don't get me wrong, mind you — if things had gone just a bit differently it might've been you and me raising him."

Remus sighed. "Well, Harry might not want me to tell you this, but I think he left with Remo and Chiun because he couldn't put up with the way he was being treated at his Muggle relatives, and going with them was his way out."

Sirius frowned. "How was he being treated?" he growled, upset at the idea of Harry being mistreated. He'd had enough of that from his own family.

"Well, he's said he wasn't beaten or anything," Remus quickly explained. "But they made him do most of the chores around their house, while their son Dudley watched TV or played video games. And he hasn't said so but I think his cousin bullied him at school, and bullied anyone who tried to make friends with him, so he was pretty much alone for the first ten years there."

"Dammit," Sirius swore. "He shouldn't have had to go through that! I wish I'd known, Remus, I would have come out of Grimmauld Place long ago and found the two of you! Hell, I would have broken out of Azkaban if I'd known!"

Remus smiled happily. "Well, you've found us now," he said, clapping Sirius on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. "It's 7:45, we'd better get going. So, did you ever think back then, that last day we walked out of Hogwarts, that we'd be back one day as professors?"

"Never in a million years," Sirius laughed, standing as well. "What do think our old professors are going to when we walk in and join them at the High Table?"

Remus chucked. "I imagine they'll be a bit surprised to see us," he mused. "One-half of the Marauders on the teaching staff at Hogwarts? Do you think they'll be expecting us to prank them?"

Sirius laughed evilly. "I did it to you, didn't I?" he pointed out.

"Right," Remus said, with some trepidation. "Just don't get us fired our first day, alright?"

"No promises, Moony," Sirius said cheerfully. "Come on, let's go."

The two newly-minted professors stepped out into the corridors of Hogwarts, heading for the Great Hall.

**=ooo=**

_7:35 pm  
__Hogwarts, 7__th__ floor  
__Outside the Gryffindor Common Room_

Harry was standing in front of the portal leading to the Gryffindor common room, a round doorway concealed behind a portrait of a rather well-fed woman. At the moment they were having a difference of opinion on whether Harry should be allowed into the common room.

"I'd like to get inside, please," Harry said politely.

"Password?" the Fat Lady said.

"Sorry, I don't have one," Harry said.

"That's not my problem," she said, curtly "I need a password."

"Um," Harry hesitated. "I guess I didn't think I'd need one before school began."

"Of course you need a password!" she insisted imperiously. "No one gets into the Gryffindor common room without a password. Now, are you going to give me one or not?"

"As I just _said_, I don't have one!"

"Have you asked anyone for a password?"

"No, of course not! Harry told the portrait, getting exasperated. "Who would I ask, nobody's here yet!"

"The Headmistress or Gryffindor Head of House is authorized to change the common room password," the Fat Lady intoned, stating one of the House rules. "Have you asked one of them for the password?"

"No, I guess not," Harry muttered sullenly.

"No password, no entry," the portrait sniffed. "That's the rule."

"Fine," Harry shrugged. "I just wanted a quick look before everyone got here. It's been a while."

The Fat Lady leaned forward, peering at him. "I don't think I recognize you," she said suspiciously. "Are you _sure_ you're a Gryffindor?"

"Of course I'm sure," Harry said, even more irritated by now. "You've let me inside before!"

"I have?" The Fat Lady stared at him even more closely. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter."

"What? How _dare_ you!" the portrait hissed. "Harry Potter is dead! All the other portraits have told me so! Pretending to be him is in very poor taste, young man!"

"Never mind," Harry muttered, turning and walking away. A Confundus Charm would have befuddled her enough to make her open the doorway, but he'd already wasted enough time wandering the corridors — it was time to head back down to the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast. "I'll be back," he said over his shoulder, in a mock German accent.

"I'll be right here," she retorted, then giggled at her own joke.

Harry had noticed while making his way through the castle that it was different than moving around in normal buildings. The castle floors and walls seemed to absorb sounds and vibrations more than normal stone did. He could still sense others moving around in the building, but their vibrations were dampened much more quickly than normal. He had sensed Filch and Mrs. Norris earlier, but they had not been far from him. What else might they absorb?

Harry was in a decent-sized corridor at the moment. He moved toward the wall, putting a foot on the wall and directing his momentum toward the ceiling as he reached it. He went upward, seeming to walk up the wall to the ceiling, taking several steps across it before he allowed gravity to pull him downward, upside down, toward the floor. Just as his hair touched the floor he flipped end for end, and his loafers touched the floor again soundlessly. Good, momentum wasn't absorbed. That meant he could use the corridors for training like Ascending the Dragon, the move he'd just performed.

"What in Merlin's name are you _doing, _boy?" a voice broke the silence of the hallway. Harry stared for a moment; the voice had come from one of the pictures on the wall nearby. A knight wearing a helmet with a badly dented visor was staring at him indignantly. "There is no running on the walls of Hogwarts allowed!"

"Sorry about that," Harry shrugged. "Just getting a little exercise."

"You want exercise?" the knight said, aggressively hefting a rather large sword in front of him. "Shall I challenge you to a duel then, young sir?"

"No, thanks," Harry muttered, moving away. That was all he needed — even the pictures wanted to fight him now!

"Oh, running away, eh?" the knight shouted after him. "You are a coward!" Nearby portraits began trying to shout the knight down, telling him to be quiet, but he began yelling all the louder, and soon the corridor was filled with loud voices as a dozen portraits argued with one another. Harry ran down a staircase to the floor below to escape the cacophony of noise.

He remembered now that the portraits at Hogwarts, unlike the pictures in the _Daily Prophet_, which could move as well, knew more about themselves than the newspaper photographs, being imbued with the memories of the person in the picture. None of them had said anything to him as he walked up to the seventh floor, but he could feel them watching him. Harry altered his pattern, incorporating the portraits into it so he could move outside their patterns, just as he did with video surveillance and microphones in the Muggle world. He would now be all but invisible to them.

On the fifth floor he sensed a large open area behind one of the corridor walls. It seemed much more spacious than a normal classroom. Harry found the door to the room next to the statue of a bewildered-looking wizard. The door was password-locked, but a detection spell Remus had taught him revealed the password as "Pine fresh."

Going inside, Harry found a bathroom with several toilet stalls and a large tub set in the middle of the floor, surrounded by many golden taps and spigots. The tub was rather deep at one end, it would be perfect for his underwater breath exercises. Harry left the bathroom and continued down toward the Great Hall.

He'd had some time now to ponder just what coming back to school here would be like. He didn't really need the education, _per se_; in fact that was going to be the most boring aspect of returning, since he was already past N.E.W.T. level. Seeing everyone again would be interesting, but he didn't know how they were going to react to Harry Potter "coming back from the dead," as it were. In fact that was an uncomfortable parallel to Voldemort's return from the dead two years ago, Harry realized.

There was also something nagging at the back of his mind, something he'd forgotten to do, but he couldn't put his finger on it at the moment. Well, it would come to him soon, Harry had no doubt.

On the way down Harry also noticed quite a few secret passageways running throughout the castle, something he hadn't come across during his first year. That explained how Filch was able to show up so quickly whenever Mrs. Norris caught a student out of bounds! Harry planned to use his spare time (when he wasn't training) to check out those hidden passageways more.

On the second floor (really the first floor, the way they were counted in Britain) just before he reached the grand staircase leading down to the entrance hall, Harry found Mrs. Norris padding silently along. She was probably on patrol for Filch, though the cat's movements and body language suggested it was just going through the motions right now since the school was supposed to be empty except for staff members. Harry stopped moving stealthily, letting the cat see him, and it ran up and wrapped itself around his leg, purring. Harry reached down and gave her head a few friendly scratches. "Hello again, Mrs. Norris. I see you're on the prowl too, a bit like I am." Mrs. Norris meowed softly and purred contentedly as Harry scratched her head. "Don't tell Filch I'm having a look around," he told the cat. "It's almost time for the feast." In fact he could sense vibrations coming from beyond the school grounds; they felt like horse-drawn carriages, and Harry belatedly remembered that at Hogwarts the carriages were drawn by thestrals, skeletal horses resembling dragons that many wizard wrongly considered to be an omen of misfortune, though thestrals were actually gentle beasts, beyond being meat eaters who were drawn to the smell of blood. Mrs. Norris meowed again as Harry walked toward the grand staircase. The cat watched him for a few moments then trotted off down the first floor corridor.

Harry stopped before he reached the staircase, sensing additional people moving in his pattern. There were two men in the entrance hall now, near the main doors. Harry moved quietly down the staircase, pausing at the first landing to take stock of the room and its new occupants. He saw no one but could sense the men were there — probably beneath Invisibility Cloaks similar to his own, though not as effective as his was at concealment.

What were they there for? Harry supposed it didn't really matter at the moment — they wouldn't be a problem. He took out his own Invisibility Cloak and covered himself, then descended the staircase in silence and moved over to the doors of the Great Hall, one of which was open. Probably to allow the men to hear anything happening in the Hall, Harry surmised, going through the door.

The Great Hall was still empty — not even any teachers had come down yet. Taking off his Cloak, Harry took a seat about halfway along the Gryffindor table, settling himself into stillness. No one would notice him unless they looked directly at him for more than a second. Well, Remus might, but he'd had some training in techniques that allowed him to quickly spot people using such methods.

Harry began to sense vibrations moving through the castle; teachers were on their way to the feast. Staff members began trickling in and taking their places at the High Table at the front of the Great Hall reserved for teachers and staff members. Professors Sprout, Vector, Sinistra and Babbling entered the Great Hall from a doorway in the southeast corner of the room, all talking at once to one another. They took their seats along the right side of the High Table as Harry watched, still unmoving, from the Gryffindor table. As expected, none of them noticed him, being intent on their conversations.

Two other teachers entered: the diminutive Professor Flitwick and a portly older professor Harry assumed was Horace Slughorn, from Sirius's comments about him at their meeting the other day. They sat together on the left side of the table, near the far end.

Professor Hooch entered the Great Hall. Harry recognized her at once; she hadn't changed much from his first year when she'd taught Flying. She sat on the right side with the other women, but not next to any of them. Was she saving a spot for someone, Harry wondered.

A witch entered Harry didn't recognize, a plain looking woman with mousy brown hair. She took the seat next to Hooch, who leaned close to speak quietly to her. From the conversation, which Harry could easily hear despite Hooch's attempt at privacy, she was praising the woman, named Charity, for deciding to attend the feast. That would be Charity Burbage, Harry recalled. According to Remus she took the position of professor of Muggle Studies in the 1993-1994 school year. Hooch was stroking her back gently; apparently they had a very close relationship.

Remus and Sirius sauntered in, waving and greeting the others already at the table, causing them to spin around, gasping as they recognized Sirius. Harry smiled for the first time since sitting down. Apparently none of the other staff had been told who the new Defense and Transfiguration teachers were. McGonagall was sure playing things close to the vest, he figured. Sirius and Remus were shaking hands with Slughorn and Flitwick; the expressions on the faces of the two older professors were priceless. Apparently if you'd asked them before that moment who they thought the two new professors would be, the names Remus Lupin and Sirius Black would have been the last ones they would have guessed.

Remus had noticed him and was waving. Harry waved back, and Sirius laughed and waved too as he finally saw where Harry was. The other teachers began looking around to see who they were waving at, and Professor Vector pointed to where Harry was sitting. All eyes at the High Table were looking in his direction now, and Harry waved to them before resuming stillness. He could feel the vibrations of many feet outside the school. The students had arrived.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and students wearing their school robes began entering, in trickles first, then in waves as they sat down along the four House tables. _That_ was what he'd forgotten, Harry remembered now — to put on his school robes! Oh well, he could fix that when he wasn't being still any longer.

Most of the faces were unknown to him, but Harry was looking for the familiar ones — Dean, Seamus and Neville from his own dormitory, and of course Ron as well. Hermione should be here as well, along with the other girls from their year, Lavender, Parvati, and two other girls whose names he couldn't recall.

Students sitting at the Gryffindor table didn't immediately notice he was there. Those who did, who sat down nearby, were giving him odds looks and scooting away from him, as if afraid. Harry couldn't figure that out at first; he certainly wasn't being _threatening_ or anything. Lots of whispers were circulating among the other Gryffindors: "Who _is_ that bloke?" "Never saw him before, have you?" "He looks familiar, but —" "Maybe he's a transfer from another school." "_What_ other school? Durmstrang?" "He kind of looks like Krum — maybe a younger brother?" Harry had no idea who "Krum" was, but he didn't bother to wonder about it now, he just sat quietly, finally dropping the stillness so students wouldn't keep jumping up and moving when they sat down next to him and suddenly realized he was there.

One of the Gryffindors nearby finally worked up the nerve to speak to him directly. Harry immediately recognized him as Dean Thomas. "Hey, man, who are you?"

"Hi Dean," Harry smiled at him. "I'm Harry, don't you recognize me?"

"Harry who?" Dean asked, shaking his head. "I don't know any Harry —"

"Sure you do," Harry insisted. He took a pair of cheap black sunglasses out of a pocket; he had transfigured the lenses to clear plastic. He put them on. "Does this help any?" Dean was looking around at the other Gryffindors, none of whom were offering any suggestions. "Does _this_ help?" Harry reached up and mussed his hair a bit. Dean was still shaking his head. Suddenly his eyes widened comically.

"Holy shit," he said. "It's Harry Potter!"

The Great Hall exploded into a hundred different conversations at that, as did the High Table. Slughorn and Flitwick were leaning toward Remus and Sirius asking questions, they were smiling knowingly but not saying anything. The women on the other side of the table were all talking excitedly, with occasional stares or fingers pointing in his direction.

On the other side of the Great Hall Harry saw Draco, Crabbe and Goyle enter, looking around at all of the students talking and whispering with each other. He went over to the table and sat down for a few seconds, apparently getting the straight dope on the excitement from his fellow Slytherins. He suddenly stood up, staring across the Hall at Harry with an expression of horror. Harry gave him a friendly wave. _Hello to you too, Malfoy_.

"You _can't_ be Harry Potter!" Lavender Brown finally exclaimed, directly to Harry. "You're dead!"

"No I'm not," Harry said, leaning on one elbow.

"But — you're buried out on the grounds," another Gryffindor, some girl he didn't recognize said. "We fucking _saw_ you get buried!"

"I'll bet you a Galleon that isn't me," Harry smiled.

At that moment two final students entered the Hall — Harry was pleased to see it was Hermione and Ron, both of them wearing Prefect's badges, though Hermione's had an "H" instead of a "P" on hers. Harry chuckled to himself, thinking "H stands for Hermione," though he knew it really stood for Head Girl — Hermione had been made Head Girl!

She and Ron marched up to the Gryffindor table, standing opposite where Harry was sitting. The murmurs around the Hall faded to silence as she approached. She looked upset to see him, Harry realized, wondering what her problem was.

"Right, then," she said angrily to him. "Are you the _real_ Harry Potter, or someone else impersonating him?!"

=ooo=

**Author's Note: Please visit my profile for information about the authors of the Destroyer novels and for news about a new Destroyer movie from Sony.**


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